


I've Got You Under My Skin

by hedonisticnightmares



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1950s, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Greaser Castiel, Human Castiel, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2019-09-12 15:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 93,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16875387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedonisticnightmares/pseuds/hedonisticnightmares
Summary: It's 1956, Castiel is second in command of one of the most feared greaser gangs in a small mid-western town, and yet he's always felt somewhat discontent. When he had been a boy, the only thing he had ever wanted was for his father to come home from the war. He's not a boy anymore, and his father never came home, but now the only other person he wants is Dean Winchester, the mechanic at the garage his guys use to repair the cars they sometimes race. He knows he can't have him, but when a spiteful move by a local gang lands his bike in Dean's garage, it gets harder to resist temptation.





	1. Good Golly Miss Molly

**Author's Note:**

> I started this many moons ago, and finally decided that the only way I would finish would be to start posting it. I don't have a set schedule, but I'm going to aim for once or twice a month. It's semi-historically accurate, but liberties have been taken with things like song release dates for the sake of me wanting to use them. I love the idea of greasers, and I love Destiel, so here we are. The rating might eventually go up, but it might not, we'll see where the story takes us.

If Summertime had a name, it would be “Dean Winchester.” All tanned skin, freckles, and sun-kissed highlights… he was the only thing worth looking at in a town that was otherwise overrun with bad memories from the war and big, industrial factory buildings that had been used to make things like gun and engine parts during the war effort, but had since been converted to glue or nylon factories again.

Castiel took a long drag from his cigarette as he leaned against Anna’s roadster.

“Look, I don’t think they’re gonna show,” this from Gabe, who was more concerned with the pretty blonde he had hanging off him than the race they had set up with some of Lucky Morningstar’s boys.

“They’ll show,” Anna insisted irritably. “They’ll be late, but they’ll definitely show. Can’t resist racing for pinks.”

Castiel blew out a cloud of smoke and continued to watch Dean from where he was. There was a grass lot and a narrow street between them at the moment, but Castiel had gotten good at picking out important details from a distance. It looked like Dean was changing out some sort of part. He had worked there, in his father’s garage, for as long as Castiel could remember- at least as long as he had been running around with “The Garrison,” the name Anna and Castiel had come up with for their gang when they had still been kids and their fathers had been off to war. Now, it was emblazoned in gold lettering across the backs of their jackets, and any guy or girl who was accepted into their circle ended up with one.

Castiel had become aware of-acquainted with- Dean when The Garrison had taken up street racing. It had been Anna’s idea, really. Most things were. The problem had been that no one in The Garrison had a particular talent for cars. It was a good way to make fast cash, but only if you knew how to repair what you had and how to soup it up so that you could actually win races. So, with the Winchester’s garage being one of the few in town that didn’t seem to care who they were or what they had been doing to need the parts on their cars (or in Castiel’s case, his bike) repaired, they had become familiar.

That wasn’t to say they were friendly. Friends spoke to one another on a regular basis. They went out for burgers or had a smoke together. The only time Dean ever spoke to anyone in The Garrison was to ask what needed fixing this time or to tell them how much it was going to cost. Friends had your back in a race or a street brawl. You had to talk to be friends, and when it came to Dean Winchester, all Castiel had ever been able to do was want.

For the longest time, the only thing Castiel had ever wanted was for his father to come home from the war. Every hope, every dream, every birthday wish since he had been ten had been that. But like so many other men who had been shipped off to fight the Germans, he never had, and after a while, you let go of impossible desires.

Unless those desires were dressed in grease stained Levi’s and a white tee shirt that pulled tight over broad shoulders and rode up just enough to be unbearably frustrating whenever he leaned over. It was funny- he didn’t think Dean was in any of the street gangs he knew, at least none of the ones they had ever run into- but if he put on a Garrison riding jacket, he’d look just like the rest of them.

Now, that was an idea. They would be better off if they had a guy who was loyal to the gang and also happened to be good with cars. There would be no stopping them. The only guys that could even consider rivaling them in number or territory were Lucky’s guys- The Black Devils- and most of them were easy enough to strong-arm when it came right down to it. He was on the verge of voicing that suggestion to Anna when a handful of Devils finally made their appearance.

“It’s about damn time,” Gabe grumbled.

Castiel took a final drag from his cigarette, and then put it out on the bottom of his boot. He glanced across to the garage one more time, and noticed that Dean had turned the sign on the door from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED’ and was on his way out.

“All right,” Anna said as she smoothed her hands down the front of her pedal pushers in a way that said she wasn’t going to spend all day bickering with thugs. Castiel supposed they were all technically considered “thugs,” but The Garrison, at least, had class. The Devils only ever ran around wreaking havoc and generally causing a stir, either with other gangs or everyone else in town. Crowley liked to pretend they were above all that, but anyone with sense knew what it meant if you had “business,” with any of them.

“One race, we go for pinks. Our machine against yours, no tricks,” Anna narrowed her eyes at the other group. They weren’t exactly known for their honesty, and there had been rumors in the past that Devils liked to drive dirty, though Lucky himself maintained that they had a code and any guy in his group unwilling to adhere to it was cruisin’ for a bruisin’. As a rule, no one trusted The Devils any farther than they could toss them.

A thin guy with a rat-like face- Castiel knew him as Al- spat on the ground between them, and then held out his hand for Anna to shake, a sneer on his features. It took her a moment, but she shook his hand, which he pulled up to kiss the back of in a display of dominance that even had Castiel bristling. Anna’s expression was cold as she took her hand back from him and hopped into the driver side of their roadster without bothering to open the door.

Castiel went around to the passenger side, and opened the door to get in, while Gabe came around the side with his blonde, who removed her scarf and leaned across Castiel to tie it to Anna’s mirror.

“For luck,” she said as she popped the gum she was chewing.

“They ain’t gonna need luck, sugar,” Gabe told her before raising his voice. “All right, on my mark,” he announced. “No tricks. Just a good, clean race.” He scurried off to get on Castiel’s bike then, his blonde sliding on behind him, and though Castiel didn’t care for it much, he was aware that riding as Anna’s second was more important than being irritated that Gabe was riding his bike. He watched as Gabe rode to the far end of the strip, along with two of the Devils that had come in another car, and felt the rumble of the engine in their car as Anna worked the clutch.

Al had two other guys in his car, and they were a sharp contrast to Anna and Castiel who sat in near silence, while the Devils whooped and revved their engine at the makeshift starting line.

“You ready, Castiel,” she asked, her eyes locked on Gabriel’s now raised arms in the distance.

“Floor it,” was Castiel’s only response as Gabriel dropped his arms sharply to signal the start of their race. The car lurched forward, Anna swore, and they were both off. Castiel kept his eyes on The Devils’ car, while Anna focused on pushing their engine to its absolute limits. The stutter in the engine when they had initially started the race had put them behind about half a nose, which had the guys in the other car banging on the seats and fenders, and generally making more noise than they had since they arrived. Castiel figured they thought they had the race in the bag. It wasn’t an especially long strip- they were at the reservoir instead of the old airfield, which made for a considerably shorter race, so there wasn’t a lot of room for error. If he had been in Al’s position, he would have thought they were going to win too.

Anna shifted gears and pressed the pedal into the floorboard. Castiel resisted the urge to light up as they nosed ahead of The Devils. Anna had a very strict no smoking policy when it came to races. Said she didn’t need ash flying in her face if she was supposed to be driving. None of the other gangs even had girls around except to look pretty- like Gabe’s blonde-but Anna had started their gang when they had still been fifteen, and Castiel, like always, had come along for the ride. She was a good leader, fierce, but with an edge of compassion where it was needed, and while it had initially been a little difficult to get guys to join up with a gang run by a girl, once they had, she inspired loyalty in them.

Most of the guys respected him as much as they did her, but it wasn’t often that he put the power to any real use. It was nice if you needed a few guys to back you up in a scuffle, and Castiel was hardly ever on his own. It wasn’t like anyone was willing to mess with you if you were wearing a jacket and were also backed up by five other guys with the same jacket, so he supposed it kept him out of trouble for the most part. At least as ‘out of trouble’ as you could be when you ran around getting into fights and racing illegally. Mostly, he hung around with them because he had been friends with Anna for as long as they could remember, and because it gave him a place to belong. When his father had failed to return home after the fighting was done, he hadn’t known what he was going to do with his life. The Garrison gave him a purpose, and he was grateful enough for that.

They reached the finish line seconds before The Devils and Gabe let out a whoop as he jumped up in celebration of their win. However, it quickly became a scramble to get out of the way as Al skidded across the finish line, and fishtailed directly into Castiel’s bike. Castiel watched as his Indian skidded across the pavement, throwing up sparks and scraping paint as it went.

He was out of the car before it had finished moving, and was halfway to Alistair and his goons before Gabe caught him around the waist to hold him back. Al had also jumped out of his car and was ready for a fight, his look one of smug victory, despite the fact that they had lost the race and, as a result, their car.

“Let go of me, Gabriel,” Castiel ground out, blue eyes fixed on Alistair with cold fury. He had saved for months for his bike, and he’d had it since he had been old enough to ride. He took its wreckage as a personal assault, and he intended to make Al pay for his indiscretion.

“Not so fast, hot stuff. He still needs to hand over his pink. Can’t have you kicking his head in until we have the keys and the title.”

“He purposely trashed my bike,” Castiel was still straining against Gabe’s hold, but less so than before. He was furious, but he was rarely unreasonable, which was a fact that Gabe, in particular, liked to exploit.

“Ain’t that just a bite? Personally, I think it’s an improvement. That hunk of junk had to be on its last leg,” Al said, his sniveling face still smug as his guys gathered behind him. There were five of them in total, which made The Garrison technically outnumbered, and with a liability in the way of Gabe’s blonde. While Castiel felt they probably still could have handled them if it came down to it, he knew that Gabriel was right to have stopped him.

“Hand it over,” Anna had gotten out of the car and come to stand between her guys and Al. “We won fair and square and you agreed- no tricks. So hand everything over before things have to get ugly. I’m not above going directly to Lucky about all of this. Don’t think I won’t,” she said, her tone razor-like as she crossed her arms over her chest. There was a brief silence, in which Gabriel’s hold on Castiel loosened a bit, and Anna stared hard at Al, her red ponytail lifting slightly in the summer breeze.

Alistair inclined his head slightly, and there was the jingle of keys as Anna caught them in one hand, and the shortest guy The Devils had brought with them handed over the title to their car.

“Sorry about the bike,” Al said, his words anything but sincere, as the guy that had been driving their second car slid across to the passenger seat and he got behind the wheel. They were off after that, a cloud of dust in their wake, and Castiel seething until he couldn’t see them anymore. Anna sighed once they were gone, and Castiel shook off Gabe so that he could go examine the damage that had been done to his bike. It was scraped all to hell, the shiny black paint, now a series of deep scratches that showed silver. The front axle was definitely bent. There was no way he could ride it away from there.

“Gabe,” Anna tossed the keys at him, “Handle this. We’ll meet up with you guys later on. And no backseat bingo neither. We don’t need the upholstery ruined before we even decide what it’s good for.” Gabe rolled his eyes and got into the new car with his girl before driving off, more than likely to show off the spoils of war to the other Garrisoners.

Castiel had propped his bike upright by the time Anna approached him. “He really did a number on it, didn’t he,” she asked, her brows lifted.

“Not helping, Anna,” he said, his voice gruff, as he tugged futilely at the bent wheel.

She patted his shoulder, “We’ll get it fixed, all right? We can sell the parts that we don’t need from that clunker we just took from them, and we’ll put some of the money toward repairs. The Winchester kid can probably give us a good price on it if we ask,” she told him, her mouth kicked up at one corner.

Castiel looked over at her, his expression unreadable. Anna was more discreet than the guys they hung around about whom she was typically interested in, but Castiel had known her for a long a time, and he wasn’t an idiot. He knew she sometimes spent a little longer in the garage than she had to when she brought a car in for Dean to look at, and he knew that if given the chance, she would have had him twice over. Not that he could blame her. Still, that didn’t stop the little flare of jealousy he felt at her casual mention of him, and it only served to irritate him further.

“He’s closed right now,” he said, digging into his pocket for his Lucky Strikes and lighting one as he sat on the seat of his bike. He knew better than to offer one to Anna. She rarely smoked, and when she did, it was only Ronson’s. Same as her dad.

“Says who?” she asked, her arms crossing over her chest again.

“Always is this time of day,” Castiel said, blowing smoke through his nostrils. He didn’t see the point in explaining how exactly he knew that Dean closed the shop every day at the same time.

Anna wasn’t stupid either. She’d be able to figure out that he had been watching him whenever he had a spare moment. It wasn’t something they would talk about though. Like they didn’t talk about the fact that even though Anna’s dad had come back from the war when his hadn’t, he wasn’t the same man that had left.

“Fine,” she said, and Castiel knew that she wasn’t going to press any further. “Wait for him to come back then. You need help getting that thing over there?” She inclined her head in the direction of the Winchester’s garage, and Castiel shook his head as he took another drag.

“No. I got it. Go make sure Gabe and the rest are behaving.”

Anna sighed again and shook her head in a way that meant that if he was going to continue to be so stubborn she wasn’t going to be able to tolerate it for much longer. She started for the car and Castiel called her name before she opened the door. She turned to look at him, brown eyes curious.

“Good race,” he told her. She smiled and got in the car, burning rubber as she pulled off.

Castiel finished his Lucky, dropped the butt to the ground and then stomped it out under the toe of his boot before standing upright again. He hoped Dean could fix it. He didn’t care what the cost was; he’d work extra hours in the factory if he had to- he could hitch a ride with Gabe or Inias until he had it back- but he needed it back, whatever it took. It felt like his wings had just been clipped. Like a piece of him was missing.

He took it by the handlebars and popped the kickstand up before starting the trek toward the shop. The wheel was so bent, it didn’t matter that he cut across the field rather than take it the long way to the mouth of the reservoir and up the street. It was a long distance either way whenever you were pushing a four-hundred-pound bike with a bad wheel.

By the time he reached the shop, the sun was at its peak, and Castiel had mostly sweated through his shirt, which was a light blue button down with cap sleeves he wore open at the collar. The curl that rested in the middle of his forehead was a little limper than it had been when he had started out that morning, but unlike a lot of the guys, he didn’t wear a D.A. or a pompadour, and instead preferred a messier, comb-over that worked without him having to maintain it too much throughout the course of the day. He still kept a comb in his back pocket, just in case, but on the whole, he never used it and he liked that he never had to do much to keep up with it after he did it in the morning. The garage bay was open and Castiel could see Dean’s legs sticking out from under the old Ford he had in there, his Levi’s just as snug over his thighs as Castiel remembered.

If he came with the rest of the gang to drop off one of their cars, he usually watched those thighs strain against the denim from the seat of his bike or the bed of Inias’s truck, far enough from anyone that he wasn’t especially obvious. They were enough now to distract him from the fact that there was a wireless playing “Good Golly Miss Molly” in the background, and that Dean was singing along with it, the foot he had keeping him steady on the creeper tapping in time to the music. Castiel couldn’t help the half smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched, the discomfort he had felt from the sun’s heat momentarily forgotten. He probably would have stood there watching just Dean’s legs for the rest of the afternoon if Dean hadn’t slid out from under the truck for a wrench.

There was moment of awkward silence, where Dean stared at him, and he stared back, completely at a loss for what to say. If he hadn’t had the bike right there in his hands, he probably would have forgotten why he had come entirely. Christ. It didn’t seem legal that anyone should have a face like that, let alone that it should be looking in his direction.

“Can I, uh, help you with something?” Dean asked as he sat up and rested his grease-streaked arms over his knees.

Castiel forced himself to keep his eyes on Dean’s. They were so green. Kelly green. But he was pretty sure if he looked anywhere else, he wouldn’t be able to manage any kind of coherent thought. Watching him from a distance- admiring the closest thing to perfect he had seen in all his twenty-two years- was one thing, being up close and alone in the same place was something else entirely. He couldn’t remember ever having come here alone now that he thought of it, and if he’d had any sense at all he wouldn’t have refused Anna’s offer to tag along. She could have done the talking for him. She was good at it, and despite having to endure her probably flirting with Dean, he wouldn’t have been standing here trying to remember how to make his mouth work. Castiel had never thought himself inclined to jealousy, but it was the only reason he had refused Anna’s company when he had absolutely no business being alone with a guy as dangerously attractive as Dean Winchester.

“My bike,” he managed finally. He glanced at the sorry state of the wheel, the scuffed paint job, and slightly bent handlebars, “I think it’s broken.”

Dean huffed, a sound between a laugh and disbelief, “No kidding. You did a real number on it from the look of things.”

“I didn’t do this,” he said automatically, though he wouldn’t say who had. He didn’t want Dean to think he was the kind of guy careless enough to wreck his own bike. “Can you fix it?” He needed a smoke. His bike, the heat, Dean, goddamned “Good Golly Miss Molly-” it was all too much at once.

Dean lifted his chin a bit as he looked at the bike from where he was on the creeper before he finally got up to take a closer look. Castiel dropped his kickstand and immediately reached for his cigarettes in the front pocket of his shirt. He needed lighter fluid, so it took him a couple tries, but he eventually got it lit, and was puffing away before Dean even made it over to him.

“You tryin’ to have this whole place go up in smoke? You can’t do that in here,” Dean sounded irritable, and Castiel realized, probably a bit belatedly, that he had never once seen Dean light up, and so he probably didn’t smoke. Most people did, pretty much all of The Garrison did, but he guessed it wasn’t completely unheard of for someone not to like it. He didn’t even particularly like it most of the time. It was just something that kept his hands busy, an outlet for all of his nervous energy.

Castiel did the logical thing then, and put as much space between himself and Dean as he could manage, by stepping outside the threshold of the garage to smoke rather than give up his cigarette. The more space between them, the better anyway.

“I don’t think they even make this model anymore. What’s it… a 19…35? Scout?”

“’37,” Castiel corrected. ”Junior Scout.”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded like he approved before squatting to check some of the damage, and then walking around to get a better look at something else.

Castiel just smoked. He stared at the field of grass (some of which was now stuck in his spokes) he had just crossed to get to the garage, and when he had smoked his first cigarette down to almost nothing, he lit another one. He’d need to pick some more up when he got the chance. He shook the half-empty pack before he tucked it back into his shirt pocket.

“Well,” Dean started, and Castiel turned back his direction to listen, still a safe distance outside of the actual garage, “Good news is, doesn’t look like your engine is too damaged. I’ll have to start it up to get a real feel for it, but I think it’ll probably start all right. Bad news is, it’s gonna take me a few weeks to fix the stuff that is broken. It’s an old bike, so I’m gonna have to fish around for parts, not to mention that bikes can get kinda tricky when you get to takin’ ‘em apart and piecing them back together.” He rubbed the back of his neck, apparently unconcerned with the grease on his hands, or the fact that the way his shirt rode up when he did that was enough to drive Castiel absolutely batty.

He flicked the ash irritably from the tip of his cigarette and looked away from him again, “Isn’t it customary to ask whether I want the good news or the bad news first?” He was really just pleased to hear that it wasn’t a total loss. A few weeks would feel like years to him though. He took his bike pretty much everywhere unless he had made specific plans to ride with Anna or one of the other guys, but he thought he could manage to wait if it meant he’d have it restored.

Dean shrugged, “Just figured you’d be the kinda guy that’s looking for the other shoe to drop, so it seemed easier just to give you the good shoe before I told you a dog ate the other one.”

Castiel frowned a bit.

“Aw, c’mon. It was a joke, okay? You could laugh a little. Look, I know you and your friends are in here pretty often, so I’ll, uh, cut you a deal on the work,” he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck again, “Like I said, it’s gonna take me a while anyway, so that seems fair enough.”

Castiel pinched his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and took a long drag before dropping what was left of it and stomping it out under his boot as he pushed the smoke out of his lungs. “All right,” he said, finally looking in Dean’s direction. “Can I use your phone? You have one here, right?”

“In the office,” Dean tilted his head in the direction of a small curtained window off to the side. There was a narrow door a couple feet away from it. “Sammy’s in there, just tell him I said it was okay for you to use it. Keys?”

It took Castiel a moment to process that Dean was asking for the key to his bike, but he fitted his hand into the front pocket of his pants and fished the key out, which he tossed in Dean’s direction as he headed for the door.

Dean caught it in one hand- of course he did- he was perfection incarnate. “No long distance,” he called as Castiel twisted the door handle to let himself into the small, yellow-lit office space. He didn’t bother to give Dean another glance- he was only calling to see if Inias could swing by and get him on the way to the diner. Otherwise, he’d have to walk.

The office itself was fairly cramped, and Castiel wondered how they did any kind of business in it at all. There was a kid at the desk, school books spread out in front of him. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen, but everything about him, from his hair to his legs was awkwardly long in the way that puppies’ paws were too big for them before they became full-sized. He resembled Dean only in the vaguest sense, there was something intangible about him that said he was related to him, but apart from their height, they weren’t particularly similar or dissimilar in any real way. If they weren’t in the same place, he doubted he would have thought they were related at all.

“Dean said I could use the phone,” Castiel said once Sam had looked up at him. He had a pencil poised in one hand, and gave him a quizzical look, like he didn’t quite know what to make of him. Probably he didn’t. Castiel was well aware of the fact that he looked like what he was, even without his jacket, and in general, people didn’t want anyone who even looked like they belonged to one of the gangs in the area within fifty feet of their front door. Not that he could blame them. They were generally bad news, especially if you got mixed up with Lucky’s or Gordon’s boys. Comparatively, Anna liked to keep things clean, but that didn’t mean they were squares. They were still one of the fiercest gangs in the area, even if they weren’t the largest, though they didn’t typically go around destroying things to prove it the way The Devils did.

“Sure thing,” Sam said finally, lifting the entire receiver from the corner of the desk and turning it around to face Castiel. “The line is a little spotty, so you might have to wiggle it a little to make sure you have a dial tone before you make your call,” he told him, his eyes still taking in every inch of him. It made Castiel somewhat uncomfortable, and he turned so that he was in profile to the kid while he picked up the phone and jiggled the cord like he was told before he dialed the operator.

Castiel tried to keep the call as brief as possible, and he said very little in response to Inias’s questions. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have so many, and Castiel had long ago grown used to brushing them off in favor of avoiding a real discussion about anything. He didn’t particularly like to talk about anything with anyone, even Anna. If the Garrison knew half the things that went through his head, they’d probably skin him and leave him for dead in a ditch somewhere. It wasn’t that he thought they weren’t loyal to him, or that he feared that they would turn on him in any capacity, but rather that if they knew how discontent he felt on a regular basis- if they how he desired things that weren’t spending every other day hanging out at the diner or killing himself at the factory, or even racing cars- that they would feel that he had betrayed them. After all, he was as much a founder of their group as Anna had been, though Castiel had always given her a majority of the credit. Leadership suited her, and while he managed it just fine, it was never something he would have been particularly interested in if she hadn’t been around to put him up to it.

“Is Dean fixing your car?” Sam asked as Castiel hung up the phone. He reached for a cigarette, but thought better of it, and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his temples in frustration.

“My Indian,” he said, his voice weary. “Thanks, by the way.” He stood up again, ready to go smoke some more while he waited for Inias outside of the shop.

“Why’d you come here for that? There’s a guy that specializes in bikes on the other side of town,” Sam said, his eraser between his teeth.

Castiel looked at him then, a little irritated, “Are you saying he doesn’t know how to fix it?” It wasn’t like he would have been able to wheel it across town even if he had thought about the fact that there might have been someone around with that sort of specialty. He guessed he could have had Inias tow it in the back of his pickup, but then there would be no Dean Winchester in Levi’s for him to lust after, so he wasn’t sure it would have been worth it in the end.

Sam shrugged, “If Dean said he can fix it, he can fix it. Just most guys take their bikes over there. Usually, Dean refers them to him.” He bent to write something in his notebook, “What’s your name anyway? I’m Sam, but I figured you knew that already if Dean sent you in to use the phone,” he rolled his eyes like sometimes Dean was too much to handle. “He’s my brother. But he acts more like he’s my mom most of the time.” Another eye roll, but the effect was diminished by his overly long fringe. He probably wasn’t especially popular at school with a cut like that. At least, not with the jock or prep crowd. Maybe he got in with some of the guys like Castiel’s group, but there was something about the way he held himself that made Castiel sort of doubt it.

“Castiel. You don’t look too much alike to be brothers.” He took his lighter out of his pocket and flipped the lid on it, open and shut, just to give his hands something to do. The small space was starting to get to him, but he didn’t really know how to leave without being totally rude, and it wasn’t something he was willing to risk when Dean held the fate of his bike in his palms.

Sam smirked at that, “I’m gonna be taller. He hates it. Dean took after our mom, and I look more like our dad.” Something a little like disgust or irritation, or maybe a more conflicted emotion flitted over Sam’s features, but Castiel didn’t care enough to try and figure it out. He could understand being touchy about fathers. It made sense though- Dean had delicate features, a fine nose, perfectly lashed eyes, and full lips- he couldn’t say he was surprised by the fact that he would have taken after their mother. If he had to wager a guess, he figured she was probably a looker too. Sam still had a boyish edge to his looks, but Castiel could already see where he would eventually grow into something more square and bordering on rugged.

He was about to ask where Dean went every day at two o’clock, realizing that he had found in Sam, an untapped well of information. He had never really spoken to Dean before, and he had very little information on him other than what he had observed from a distance. It wasn’t like he could go around asking about him- if the guys he knew didn’t think his desire for him was totally obvious, then they’d probably think he had a bone to pick with him and jump him in an alley someplace thinking they were doing him a favor. No, asking around would never have been a safe option. But here Sam was, Dean’s kid brother, and apparently friendly enough that he could talk to him like they knew each other already. So where was the harm in fishing for information from a direct source on someone he knew he could never have?

“Everything all right, Sammy?” Dean had poked his head through the door, and Sam rolled his eyes at Castiel as if to say, ‘told you so,’ before he looked his brother’s way.

“Everything’s fine, Dean.” Sam went back to his schoolwork, and Castiel didn’t miss the suspicious way Dean eyed him, despite the fact that there was a desk between him and his brother.

“I have a ride coming,” Castiel said, noting how little space there was between the doorframe and Dean’s body. There was no way he would be able to get by without touching him if he didn’t move first, so despite him stating that his ride was on the way, Castiel didn’t move an inch.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, “Your bike starts. Barely. I can rebuild the engine too but it’ll be tomorrow, maybe the next day, at the least, before I can start calling around for any parts. It’ll cost a little extra too.”

Castiel’s fingers smoothed a line along the seam of his pants for want of a cigarette. Why in the world was he still standing there? He fixed his eyes to Dean’s though, and refused to look at any other part of him, because he couldn’t be responsible for anything he did if he got to looking at him up close. If there was space between them, that was one thing. It was like seeing an expensive watch in a store window. You knew you couldn’t afford it, and as long as you were on the street outside and the watch was on the other side of the glass, you could peek in and wish for it, but just as easily keep walking by. Being in such close quarters with that watch, actually going in the store and picking it up, maybe trying it on, well… it was a hell of a lot more difficult to keep walking when all you had to do to make it yours was slip it in your pocket and make off with it.

Making off with a watch that looked like Dean Winchester was probably a good way for him to get his head kicked in, but sometimes… sometimes, he just didn’t think he gave a damn when it came to that sort of thing.

“That’s fine. Do you know about how much?” It didn’t matter. He’d pay. Whatever it was. He’d do anything to get it back. His wings. He was just buying time for himself, because Dean was still doing a good job of taking up that doorway.

He shrugged and his tee-shirt pulled tight across his chest and shoulders, “Tough to say, really. Depends who’s got what. But like I said, I’ll take care of you, so don’t worry too much.”

Oh. Oh. Oh. He should have kept his distance. He should have gone all the way to the next town over to get his bike repaired, even if he had to wheel it the whole way. I’ll take care of you. It was indecent.

Castiel could feel himself beginning to react- his palms sweating, his breath coming a little shorter- Dean had been staring right back at him, but he had finally looked away, almost shyly if Castiel hadn’t known better, and then the kid was right there. He had never felt so exposed in his life. What had he done to make God hate him?

Inias pulled up then, laid on his horn twice, and Castiel thought maybe God was merciful after all.

“Guess that’s your ride,” Dean stepped aside. “You wanna leave your information and I’ll give you a call whenever I know more about how much things are gonna be?”

“No phone,” was Castiel’s curt reply. Anyway, he couldn’t imagine talking on the phone with Dean- he doubted he’d be able to focus on anything he said. He had a kind of deep voice, like it started somewhere in his chest and rumbled around in there before it finally made its way past those perfect lips. He knew his own voice to be gravelly, probably from all the smoking he did, as Gabriel got a kick out of imitating him from time to time, but he didn’t talk that often anyway if he could help it. He had the feeling that in a phone conversation with Dean, he’d do even less of it, and the whole thing would end up a total disaster.

Sam looked up and grinned, “Nice meeting you, Cas.”

Castiel was already reaching for his cigarettes as he gave Sam a small wave, the nickname barely registering as he made for the door. It felt like breaking the surface of a lake after having been submerged a little too long, a few moments more and he might have drowned completely. By the time he reached the truck, he was puffing like a chimney, and Inias looked at him curiously as he shifted gears and pulled away from the garage. Whatever questions he had, Inias seemed to sense that this wasn’t the time for them, and Castiel was grateful for that, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of chapter one! Hopefully, you liked it! For clarification: The motorcycle Castiel rides is a 1935 Indian Junior Scout- they came in red, but his is black, and he has wings painted on either side of the fuel tank. Dean and Sam are still about four years apart in age, making Dean 19, Sam 15 and Castiel is just barely three years older than him, making him around 22. War-vet John Winchester will make an appearance, but his role will be pretty limited. Lots of pining. Some angst. Rest assured for a happy ending.
> 
> I also don't have a beta-reader, so if you're interested hmu


	2. The Great Pretender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets in a scuffle.

Catching rides to work with Gabe or Inias was something Castiel decided he absolutely never wanted to do again. Of course, he had ridden with them to various places in the past, and he had been prepared for the close quarters because too many of them were piled into one vehicle. That was tolerable, as he was usually in the front seat instead of cramped between any of the others in the back. But what he absolutely couldn’t stand, and what made him miss his motorcycle more than anything, was all of the _noise_. He had always known that the guys talked a lot- especially Gabe and Hess- but he had never really realized how utterly noisy they were. He missed the solace of riding his bike.

So a week in, when he felt like his ears were going to start bleeding if he had to spend one more second in a car with any of them, he elected to walk home. It was something he hadn’t done since he had been a boy, and even then he had rarely been alone, usually walking home alongside Anna, so he thought that it was just what the doctor ordered.                                                                                                

“You sure you don’t wanna ride with us?” Gabe asked as they punched out, one right after the other. “We were gonna meet up with Anna and Ingrid at the diner, maybe catch a flick or somethin’. You know Ingrid just got her jacket, so I’m guessin’ they wanna celebrate a little.” 

“I have some business I need to take care of,” Castiel wasn’t a particularly good liar, but he usually got by on half-truths if he had to. None of the guys would appreciate being told they were annoying him just by existing, so the ‘business’ he was taking care of was attending to his own sanity. 

“You need any backup?” Gabriel’s tone had turned a little more serious and he stopped them just outside of the factory, a hand on his shoulder. For all of Gabe’s joking and teasing, he could at least be relied upon to have his back in a fight. That was the one thing he did like about their little gang- they were like siblings, and they were loyal to one another to a fault.

Castiel reached for a cigarette, stuck it unlit between his lips, “No. I’m fine. Thanks. I’ll find you guys later,” he told him evenly. Gabe didn’t seem like he quite believed him, but after a pause seemed to accept that was the only answer he was likely to get out of him and headed for Inias’s pickup. Castiel waited for him to disappear from sight completely before he turned and headed in the opposite direction. He’d take the long way home, past the drugstore and the school. He could pick up more cigarettes. He was down to his last two, which was why he hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to light the one he had pulled out after he left work.

He was thoroughly enjoying the solitude of his walk, despite itching to light his cigarette, which he had moved from between his lips to behind his ear to avoid temptation. If he started smoking, he’d want to keep on, and he’d be through both smokes before he ever made it to the drugstore. He considered stopping by the Winchester garage- it was a bit of a detour- but he reasoned that he had to check on his bike at some point- hell, maybe Dean had even managed to fix it already. He’d probably take his chances and kiss him on the spot if that was the case. The prospect of riding to work alone again was enough to drive him to desperation.

 On the other hand, given how completely incapable he had been the last time he had been at the garage, maybe it was better if he waited until he could get someone to go with him. A buffer. Preferably not Anna. Though, maybe she was the exact right choice. Maybe seeing her with Dean would help his brain accept just how off limits he was. The debate was going strong in his head as he rounded the corner and noted a bit of a commotion.

There were a couple of guys, bottom-feeder types, wannabes that probably didn’t belong to a gang with any sort of credible reputation, if they belonged to any in the first place, hassling a gangly kid a few yards ahead of him. It wasn’t really an unusual scene, and on an average day, it was generally dependent upon Castiel’s mood whether he stepped in on a situation like this. The thing was, the kid, with his back pressed against the brick of the drugstore- his features somewhere between fiercely defiant and deeply offended- was the floppy-haired, younger Winchester.      

Castiel glanced heavenward, wondering what he had done to deserve to be the object of God’s personal vendetta. He sighed, rubbed his palms down the front of his pants and approached them.

“Are you two lost,” he asked as he finally gave in and decided now would be as good a time as any to light up. He was just outside the drugstore now, so he’d go in and get a couple of new packs once he finished with this. “I’d be happy to help you with directions if he can’t.”

The shorter of the two guys looked back at him, “Get outta here. This doesn’t concern you.” 

Up close, Castiel could see that the taller guy actually had Sam pinned to the wall, and his school bag had been scattered over the pavement. He wasn’t sure if Sam didn’t know how to fight or if he simply hadn’t wanted to try with odds against him, but Castiel had no intention of leaving him to deal with this on his own. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him, though he didn’t look at him, didn’t want to give him the look of hope guys got when they thought help was on the way. It would only make the thugs more inclined to want to beat his face in.

Castiel regarded the pair coolly, his cigarette held loosely between his lips, “Two on one’s not really fair, though, is it? I mean, he’s tall, but you two goons have twenty pounds each on him. What’s he done anyhow?”

The pair, now more irritated with him than they were interested in whatever they had been going to do with Sam, turned on him in near unison. Castiel took a slow drag of his cigarette, and fixed them with a look that dared them to make one wrong move. 

\--

“You didn’t have to do that.” Sam was crouched in front of where Castiel sat with his back against the brick of the drugstore. His tone was somewhere between appreciative and disapproving. He had gone inside to get help after the fight started, but by the time anyone came out, the shorter guy had gotten in a couple of good punches, and while Castiel had gotten in a few of his own, the damage had been done. It had taken some doing on Sam’s part, but he convinced the clerk that Castiel wasn’t any trouble, and had even managed to procure ice, while, Castiel had simply dug around his pocket for a few quarters, which he handed to the clerk.

Five minutes later, he was sitting against the wall, ice across his knuckles, new cigarette between his lips. “I know.” His jaw was throbbing, and he didn’t feel much like talking, but he sort of liked Sam, so he didn’t want to chase him off just yet. Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure the two jerks that had cornered him weren’t still hanging around somewhere, so he wasn’t comfortable sending him on his way anyway. “What’d those guys want with you,” he shifted the ice from the back of his hand to his jaw and turned his head away from Sam to blow smoke. 

Sam managed to look a little embarrassed, but never got around to telling him what exactly it was that had set the guys off- if it had been anything at all- because an old pickup skidded to a stop in front of them. It took them both several moments to realize that the person who had jumped out of the cab and was shouting Sam’s name was none other than Dean Winchester.

The good times just kept rolling.

“What the hell, Sam? I been looking all over for you!”

Sam stood, a pinched look on his face, and ran a hand through those too long locks.

Castiel wondered if he kept it long on purpose or just forgot to cut it.

“Dean, I’m _fine._ Calm down,” Sam sounded exasperated, like he had known this was coming.

Dean was much closer now, and had taken Sam by the shoulders to inspect him before he noticed Castiel puffing away against the wall, and doing his damnedest to stare into space and not let his eyes roam the length of Dean’s body. He had hoped if he sat still enough, the brothers would forget he was there entirely and he could watch as Dean walked away. 

It was a nice daydream, but he had terrible luck. 

“You,” was Dean’s rather pointed greeting, his voice edged with accusation as he looked around Sam to him. 

“Me,” Castiel confirmed, still not entirely confident he could look Dean in the face and not spontaneously combust. It didn't matter that Dean probably thought he had been harassing his brother earlier- Castiel simply didn't trust himself not to do something insane and reckless where Dean was concerned. He had been led to temptation and he was having the worst time trying to resist. Besides, it wasn’t like Sam had a mark on him- if anything, it looked like Sam had been the one harassing him. 

“Dean,” Sam had pulled away from his brother and put his hands up in a placating gesture, “Cas was just helping. He didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

Dean’s attention flickered between Castiel and Sam for a moment before he picked right back up with his gruff big brother routine. “No, Sam. No, this is not _okay_. How many times have I told you to wait for me at school? What happened that involved him ending up like that?”

Castiel couldn’t help feeling a little offended at Dean’s question. He had caught his reflection in the window of the drugstore, and he hadn’t thought he looked that bad. His lip was split, his jaw would bruise, and his knuckles were sore, but he’d been in much worse scrapes with much tougher guys and come out on top, so he felt that maybe Dean was exaggerating his condition just a bit.

Sam flushed, and Castiel couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment, “Stop treating me like a kid, Dean. Nothing happened to me. I just wanted to walk to the shop on my own. I only get picked on because you insist on treating me like a little kid all the time! No one-”

“Truck. Now.” Dean’s tone was sharp and short, and it seemed like Sam knew better than to argue when he sounded like that, because he fell into a sullen silence and, after a few moments, huffed and turned toward the truck.

“Sorry, Cas. Thanks.” Sam at least seemed grateful that he had shown up. It made him feel a little better about getting mixed up in the whole thing.

Castiel stared after him and didn’t say anything at all. He might have stepped in even if it hadn’t been Sam that had been being harassed, so he wasn’t sure he deserved thanks, but it was nice to hear. He didn’t know. The passenger door on the truck opened and slammed shut after Sam got in, and Castiel took a final drag from his cigarette before he put it out on the pavement next to his hip.

He expected the brothers to drive off together and leave him there with his jaw and knuckles throbbing. Maybe he’d check in at the garage just to see, but maybe he’d think better of it- Dean probably wouldn’t want to see him so soon after finding him with Sam the way he had. He could wait a few days in that case. That was what he expected.

“Are you okay,” Dean sounded tired, like all the fight had gone out of him, and Castiel couldn’t help but look up at him. He hadn’t expected that at all. Not with the way he had whirled onto the scene, and swept Sam out of sight with his anger. His hand was on the back of his neck, but he had an open flannel with the sleeves rolled up on over his tee shirt today, so Castiel couldn’t see the strip of skin he had when they had been at the garage.

“I’m okay,” Castiel’s voice came out sounding rougher than he really meant, and he got to his feet so he could feel more like he was on equal footing with Dean. “Guys like that just like to stir up trouble,” he said, just to let Dean know he had been in far worse scrapes. He moved the ice from his jaw and let the ice chunks fall from the handkerchief they had been wrapped in to the ground, before he stuffed it into his back pocket.  

Dean scowled slightly and Castiel wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have kept his mouth shut. Still, even kind of pissed off, he looked good. “Well, thanks,” he said finally, “For… for Sammy. He thinks he’s all grown up, but I still gotta look after him.” He had shifted his hands to his pockets, nodded a little, like he had more to say, but decided against it, and then turned to go around and get back in his truck. 

“Could you give me a ride?” Castiel said, and he wasn’t sure why, except that he was desperate to keep Dean around a little longer. “You have my bike.”

Dean looked momentarily affronted, and then huffed a laugh, nodded his head again, his tanned forearms above his open door, “Yeah. Yeah, get in.” He slid in behind the wheel, and Sam opened the passenger door and slid nearer to Dean so Castiel could get in next to him. 

“No smoking,” Dean warned as Castiel settled himself next to Sam and closed the door behind him. He started the engine, and the radio crackled to life, some rock n’ roll song Castiel had never heard coming through. “Where to?”      

He hadn’t thought that far. Home was a good option, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about having Dean drop him off in front of his tiny apartment. He was one of the only guys who lived alone, but it wasn’t anything to write home about, and he wasn’t there most of the time anyway. 

“I can walk from the shop,” he said finally. “You have to go back there, don’t you? I don’t live too far from there.” Castiel lived in the only apartment building in town, and it was only about half a mile from the shop, which sat on the very edge of town to begin with. It was farther from the factory to his place than from the garage. 

“Usually,” Dean started, his eyes flicking to Sam in the rearview, “that would be the case. But since _someone_ decided they wanted to make life difficult, and run all over creation on their own without talking to me first, I’ll just leave everything closed up for today. We can just drop you home on the way through.” 

Castiel glanced at Sam, who was scowling, his arms crossed over his chest, clearly unhappy with this news. 

Dean shrugged, “If you’re insistent though, I guess we can swing by and I can show you what I’ve done with your bike so far. It’s not much, I still don’t have all the parts, but if you’re interested-” 

“Yes,” Castiel didn’t want to give him a chance to change his mind. He had debated all afternoon about whether or not he should find his way to the shop, and now, when given the choice between having Dean anywhere near his apartment, and prolonging their time together in relatively safe proximity, he’d choose the latter. It wasn’t healthy for him, constantly having to figure out a way to make his brain work around Dean Winchester, but he couldn’t help it- the opportunity was there, to do more than just want, and he was tired of depriving himself of anything even remotely pleasurable because it was better for everyone else. If Dean didn’t mind having him around, then he’d take advantage of the opportunity.  

Dean bobbed his head and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel before he turned onto the road that would eventually lead them to the garage, rather than taking the one that led straight through town. He pulled up alongside the building and parked. “Sam, go in, do your homework,” Dean’s voice was gruff, like he was doing his best impression of a stern father, but didn’t quite hit the mark. It made Sam’s scowl deepen, and Castiel jumped out of the truck to let him out before his mood had a chance to worsen. Sam disappeared inside- apparently with a key of his own- and Castiel was left to stare at Dean from across the cab of the truck. 

Now that they were out, he itched to smoke again, and he ran his palms along his thighs to quell the urge as he remembered Dean’s reprimand when he had initially brought his bike to the shop. Dean sighed heavily and ran a perfect hand through his sun-kissed strands, and Castiel had never wanted him more. 

“Well, come on,” he headed for the garage and Castiel followed after him like the lost lamb he was. He just wasn’t sure if Dean was a wolf or a shepherd.

Inside the garage, Castiel forced himself to actually take a look around- it gave him an excuse not to look at Dean- and he noticed that it was one of the most meticulous looking garages he had ever been in. There were only two bays, only one of which was currently occupied, but there weren’t any tools strewn about, or even many stains on the floor from what he could see. It wasn’t like he spent a lot of time hanging around mechanics to know what their habits were, but even he could see that everything had a place in Dean’s garage, and everything in it appeared next to spotless. He was reminded of his grandmother scrubbing his hands while he had been a boy, while admonishing him that “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” He didn’t know if that was true- he hadn’t been to church in years, but if ever God wanted to take human form, Castiel was sure Dean Winchester was pick of the litter. 

“It looks worse than it is,” Dean said as he finally made it to the back of the shop and Castiel was forced to focus on him again. What he assumed was his bike, was covered in a white tarp, which Dean had started to pull off before he had the chance to ask what exactly that meant. He pulled the tarp away and set it aside, and all Castiel could see was that his bike was not in one piece. It was on a stand to keep it from moving while Dean worked on it, the front wheel had been removed, there were small metal parts lined up nearby that he couldn’t have begun to guess the proper places for. He felt his chest tighten a little. 

“No one likes seeing this stage, but I promise I’m taking care of her,” Dean said, his voice almost gentle. He had crouched down near the bike’s rear and was fiddling with what looked like a bolt of some kind. 

Castiel felt his chest tighten a little more at that, and for an entirely different reason. He didn’t know why Dean insisted on using that phrase, or why he found it to be such an utter turn-on. Or why he looked so good squatting near a tire. Castiel reached out to run his fingers along one of the wings he had painted on the fuel tank. It was just the outline, in gold, like the letters on his Garrison jacket, but they meant something to him. Those wings meant freedom. They meant that maybe one day he could leave and not look back and not feel like he was letting everyone around him down if he did. They were a promise to himself that one day he would actually do just that. 

“How much longer do you think… I’m not trying to rush you or anything, just an estimate would be sufficient.” Castiel shoved his hands in his pockets and finally looked up at Dean again, who had stood and was looking at the bike with his arms folded across his chest. 

“Honestly, it’s a little hard to say. I’m waiting on a new tire for you, and I’ll have to drive a coupla towns over to get one of the engine pieces I’ll need. Another week? Maybe two? Things get kinda hectic around this time of year. School lets out in a few weeks, so everyone wants tune-ups and oil changes so they can drive to the beach or whatever. But I’ll-”

“Take care of me,” Castiel interjected, because he didn’t think he could take hearing Dean say it again without wanting to jump him where he stood. Cutting him off ended up being an equally poor idea as letting him finish the sentence, because Dean looked at him, and their eyes met, and Castiel wasn’t sure what his face did in those two seconds, but it resulted in his lip splitting and bleeding again, and Dean saying, “Hey, you’re bleeding.”

Which might not have been bad, except that almost before he had a chance to react, Dean had closed the space between them, taken his chin in one hand and went to wipe the blood away with a rag he had produced from his back pocket.

Castiel was going to combust. The touch was more like that of a concerned parent than anything truly sensuous, but he was still _touching_ him, and Castiel had worked very hard not to let that happen up until now. He couldn't help it. He jerked away as if he had been burned. Like a complete _pansy_. 

“Sorry, did I hurt you? Sam's always getting himself banged up, so… I just didn't think there for a sec. Sorry about that.” 

Castiel ran his tongue along the split in his lip and tasted the blood there, “It's fine,” he said in a rush. “I need a smoke.” He didn't bother to wait for a response, just made a beeline for the exit, a Lucky Strike lit between his lips before he even made it all the way outside. This was bad. Very fucking bad. Because he had been perfectly fine just imagining what those hands might feel like against his skin before, and now he actually knew. No way he was going to be able to just forget something like that. How firmly he had held his chin, how he could feel the calluses on his hands, the wear on them from years spent clanging around under the hood of one car or another. How big, fucking square hands like that could manage to be so gentle with him, while at the same time clearly unwilling to tolerate nonsense. 

A shiver ran down his spine, and he had another cigarette lit, almost before the other one was done. He raked a hand through his hair, his bruised knuckles starting to throb with the movement. 

“You sure you don't want me to just drive you to your place? It's really not a big deal. I can leave Sammy here and drop you off and then swing back by for him if you’re worried about too many people seeing where you live or something.” Dean approached him, and Castiel fought the urge to immediately cross the lot and put as much space between them as humanly possible. 

“I can walk,” Castiel told him, his heart rate kicking up more the longer Dean stood there. Castiel wasn’t looking directly at him, but he could see him just out of the corner of his eye. Dean had the rag he’d used on his lip between his hands, and Castiel couldn’t help but feel jealous of the thing. He’d done it to himself though, pulled away before he lost control of things, so he couldn’t even complain. 

“You know, those things’ll kill you,” Dean told him as Castiel dropped the butt of his cigarette and smothered it under the toe of his boot. “I read this article a while ago… says they cause cancer, probably.” 

Castiel ran his tongue along the split in his lip and braved a glance in Dean’s direction, “I’ll be sure to invite you to my funeral.” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them, and Castiel was sure that he had said the wrong thing again. There was a reason he kept his mouth shut most of the time. Words didn’t come easily for him, and when they did, they usually fell on a scale from sarcastic to scathing. 

But then he heard Dean laugh, a little huff of breath that you’d almost think was a sigh if you weren’t paying attention, and Castiel felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest. It was ridiculous, really, how pleased he was with himself at having managed to get that response out of him, but here he was. 

“So, you can smile,” Dean sounded pleased too. “I thought you were afraid your face might break if you did,” he teased. 

He’d been so wrapped up in the thought that he’d made Dean laugh, that he hadn’t realized he’d been smiling too. He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his front pockets, “It happens sometimes. If you’re lucky,” he looked up at Dean again, and this time didn’t bother to look away like any decent human being would have. Part of him felt a little daring, hoped Dean could read between the lines, and part of him just felt like he owed it to himself to maintain his own reputation. There was no way he could manage to come across as intimidating if he got wide-eyed and blush-y when another guy touched him. Nevermind if that guy was as gorgeous as the day was long, or if his hands felt like they were made to send electric through every inch of his body. So, he just stared at him, looked Dean in the eyes until Dean got uncomfortable and cleared his throat before he looked away. 

It was a minor victory, but it made him feel moderately better about his earlier reaction.

“I’m gonna get going,” Castiel said finally. “I’ll swing by again so you can keep me updated on your progress.” He probably needed to meet Anna and the rest of the guys once he changed anyway. They’d tolerate him being late, but not showing at all would lead to questions he didn’t want to have to think about answering. “Tell Sam I’ll see him around.” He didn’t know how true that was, but he actually liked the kid, and he hoped they ran into each other again, though hopefully under better circumstances.  Not having a phone gave him an excuse to come by again, at least, so maybe they’d talk more then. He seemed to be at the garage almost as much as Dean.    

“Hey, thanks… For Sammy, I mean,” Dean’s voice was sort of gruff, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to thank him, but there was a certain warmth to it, and Castiel couldn’t help but think he’d made a very good decision by stepping in that afternoon, even if it did get him a split lip and a bruised jaw. 

“Sure thing.” 

\--- 

An hour and a half after he left the Winchester garage, Castiel found his way to the diner. Anna and the rest were difficult to miss, all wearing their jackets and taking up a significant corner of the place- it was okay though, Anna used to date the manager (very poor decision on her part, Castiel had always felt), but their break-up had been amicable, and he never gave them any trouble when they hung out there. He was greeted with a few tame cheers as he approached, and Anna threw an arm around his shoulders when he sat down next to her.

“What happened here,” she asked, her brows drawing down as she shifted to get a better look at his face. Her arm left his shoulders, and a modest hush fell over the rest of the group. He didn’t miss Gabriel’s look that bordered somewhere between concern and betrayal. He probably thought Castiel hadn’t been willing to trust him when he asked if he needed back up earlier.  

“It’s nothing. I handled it. Congratulations, Ingrid.” They were used to his deflections, and though Anna rolled her eyes in a way that told him she’d press him on it later, no one questioned him. Which was good, because although he was capable of lying, he never felt particularly good about doing it. It was bad enough that he couldn’t just tell them why he hadn’t wanted to ride along with them in the first place, but if it came down to explaining why he had bothered helping out a kid with no connections to them when that kid was the younger brother of Apollo incarnate, Dean Winchester, he’d lie through his teeth.

When the diner eventually closed, they migrated to the parking lot and carried on discussing future plans. A lot of the guys wanted to expand. Not so much in number as in territory. They had a tight knit group, and they had allies here and there, but they primarily kept to themselves unless a show of force was needed. It had been quite some time since they had last been involved in a serious brawl, and while that suited Castiel just fine, it made some of the others a bit restless. 

“I’m sick of Lucky and his boys thinking that they’ve got a leg up on us because there’s so many of them. He doesn’t care who he recruits so long as they’re willing to do what he says and don’t mind playing dirty. We need to move hard and fast against them, and all the rest will fall into line. If we need to, we can get few more recruits we can trust, but there’s nothing stopping us from making a definite move to cement our status,” Josiah was usually hot-headed, and was almost always willing to fight before he was willing to use his words. Castiel had a soft spot for him only because Josiah seemed to idolize him somewhat, and rather than the disappointed big-brother look he had gotten from Gabriel when he had come in with his split lip and bruised jaw, Josiah had looked almost awe-struck. 

“Hang on,” Anna placated, “there’s no reason to go looking for trouble when we don’t need it. I’m all for defending what’s ours when the time comes, but there’s no reason to stir things up for kicks.”

“I’m talking about showing them we won’t just roll over for anyone,” Josiah, shot back. “Look at what they did to Castiel’s bike! Because they felt like they could- because they were sore that you out-drove them- we need to stop this now while it’s still early!”

Castiel generally kept his mouth shut when it came to this sort of discussion- Anna usually handled things well enough, and he was fine to take her lead, but his bike had been mentioned, and that stung enough without the way his brain inevitably circled around to Dean Winchester. Memories of the way he had looked crouched next to what was left of his bike and how he had grabbed his chin when his lip started bleeding again crowded their way to the front of his head, and threatened to send him spiraling into a useless daydream. 

“That’s enough, Josiah,” his voice came out even rougher than usual, and he had to clear his throat before he continued. “Anna’s right. Starting a war over something so… trivial,” it hurt to say that too, because to him it wasn’t trivial, but in the grand scheme it was, “… makes no sense. There has been relative peace lately, and as long as we’re beating them in street races, and they aren’t crossing any real lines, there’s no point in doing anything drastic.”

Josiah didn’t say any more against him, but Castiel could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn’t like his decision. 

“All right, now that’s settled,” Gabriel broke the tension, his brows lifted, “What say we go find ourselves a party? Ingrid’s gotta break her jacket in, and I’m overdue for a good sloshing.” There was a cheer, and even Castiel couldn’t help but look amused. He wanted to beg off and slink back to his apartment where he could be alone with his thoughts about Dean and everything that had gone on that day, but he had already arrived late, so he needed to make an effort for another hour or so before he could plausibly excuse himself. 

They piled into the cars, and headed for the city, where things were generally open later, and a party could almost always be found if you knew where to look. 

\--

As it happened, an hour turned into two; two turned into three; and three became dawn before Castiel was driving himself and Anna back to town in her car. He’d had a few drinks, but along with his chain smoking, he was more or less known for his high tolerance for alcohol, so he didn’t end up as wasted as Gabriel would have liked. Anna, could hold her own, and she frequently partook in drinking competitions, which had been exactly why he was always reluctant to leave her alone any time they all went out together. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the others to look after her, or that he didn’t trust her to look after herself, but that he knew he’d never be able to forgive himself if anything ever did happen to her when he should have been there. She could also be a bit of a handful when she drank, and Castiel was just the most used to keeping her in line.

He smoked while he drove and told himself it was his fee for having to take care of Anna while she was drunk. It wasn’t quite the same as his bike, but there was something nice about driving through the early morning quiet with Anna soundly asleep in the seat next to him. It wasn’t the same level of freedom that he felt when he rode his bike, but it was almost comfortable in a simple sort of way.  

The closer they got to home, the narrower the streets got, and while Castiel had the distinct urge to drive by the Winchester garage on his way through, he resisted. He’d take Anna back to his place and let her sleep off her hangover before she went back home. He had offered to let her move in with him on one occasion in the past, but her reaction had been strong enough that he hadn’t asked again. He knew she felt a certain responsibility to her father, and that she didn’t like the idea of abandoning him, but their relationship wasn’t what he would have called healthy, and, while he understood her loyalty, Anna’s father needed more help than she was really equipped to give on her own. 

When he got to his apartment, he parked on the street, and then woke Anna to help her out of the car so that they could head upstairs. Her hair was a bit of a mess, and her jacket was hanging off of one shoulder, but they made it inside with little difficulty, where he removed her shoes and clothes and put her to bed in his room.

There was a point in their youth, when Anna had been interested in him, and Castiel being who he was, hadn’t been interested at all. They had always been comfortable around one another, but once her crush had been resolved, things had become even easier, and there was an understanding that nothing between them would ever move into the sexual realm. Their friendship was easily one of his most valued relationships, and despite their differences, he was glad to have her.                

He showered and changed into an undershirt and pajama pants before putting on a pot of coffee. He had never slept well—he usually only averaged a few hours a night—and since he wanted to keep an eye on Anna anyway, he didn’t see the point in trying to sleep until after she made it home. He sat at the bar of his small kitchen and waited for the coffee to brew. It was something he liked to do—he liked the sound the percolator made as it brewed, liked the smell, liked the simplicity of it—and it was an easy way for him to clear his head.

At least, it usually was. When he went to rest his face in his hand while he sat, he found he had forgotten about the bruise that took up a good portion of his jaw, and that led him to thinking of how he had gotten it and where he had ended up after. He sighed heavily and pressed his forehead against the Formica bar top.

Dean Winchester.

If he was honest, he wasn’t even sure he liked him. Of course, there was the obvious- he liked looking at him, liked watching him—what was not to like—but they didn’t know one another. Castiel had never stuck around long enough to try to get to know him because he had always been too worried about giving himself away. He had never really bothered to try to get to know anyone outside of the Garrison before, had never really cared to, and the idea that he now had an opening to try to get to know Dean, whatever the outcome might have been, was a little daunting.

He pulled his head off of the counter and got up to pour himself a cup of coffee. He could either avoid Dean as long as decently possible, and check back in with him in a couple of weeks to see if he had finished up his bike, and then vow to stay as far from the garage as possible, or…

Or he could do the exact opposite.

He could swing by the shop every other day. He could be like the friends his grandmother had entertained when he had been a boy, and drop-in “just to chat.” He could get to know Sam, who seemed pretty interesting, even without the added perk of being a direct source on his brother. He could do his damnedest to get Dean to notice him the way he noticed Dean. Even if it didn’t lead to anything, or he ended up not liking him, maybe they could be friendly. Maybe he could make him part of the Garrison. The guys would like that. Someone who knew about cars could probably get them better deals on parts or might at least know who they could go to for this or that. Maybe all of that would put an end to the wanting. All of the daydreams where he had Dean’s hands everywhere, and there were freckles everywhere, and hardly any space between them. He’d shatter his own fantasy by getting close to it. Maybe that could work.

Castiel sat at the bar and sipped his coffee, his heart rate up from what it had been when he started. He had no problem getting in a fight, even pulling a knife if he needed to, but this was something scarier. He wasn’t particularly daring when it came to getting close to people, even his relationship to Anna had been born of proximity rather than any effort on his part. She had approached him. And here he was planning to actively foster a friendship with the Winchester brothers, which was something he never would have imagined himself doing before.

Anna shuffled out of his room a few minutes later, his spare set of pajamas hanging loosely off of her frame. He got up and poured her a cup of coffee as well, which she gratefully took as she sat next to him.

They drank together in silence, and she went for the last of the pot before she ever said anything to him. “You gonna tell me about those bruises now,” her voice was rough with sleep still.

Castiel shrugged, “Like I said. Nobodies. They were hassling this kid, the, uh, one from the garage. The mechanic’s little brother. I got involved.”

He could sense Anna’s surprise, though she was still a mess, and would almost certainly fall back into bed once she finished her cup. Still, she was the one person he could be most honest with, even if he didn’t plan on telling her every detail about his attraction to Dean.

“That was decent of you,” she said. “Probably ideal since the older one has your bike. Maybe the kid put in a good word for you.”

He shrugged again and got up to stretch out on the couch, “Maybe.”      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! This was originally supposed to be a pinefest submission, but I didn't actually have time for it when I started it, so pining is going to be a thing. I don't know how long it'll be, but I hope I can do the characters some measure of justice. One of my chief struggles (and reasons I don't end up posting or finishing) is being paranoid about ruining characters in a fic, so I'm going to do my best not to let that paranoia get to me and keep going!


	3. Money Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean starts to warm up to Cas?

Days passed before Castiel got up the nerve to return to the shop. Or at least before he managed to come up with a decent enough excuse to separate himself from everyone else long enough to go over there alone. They generally traveled in a pack, and with the exception of Castiel and his bike, none of them were ever on their own for very long. It was dangerous to go it alone, especially if you were wearing your jacket- anyone with a bone to pick might decide to corner you- and besides that, it was just something they all did. It was part of being a unit. They moved together.

His excuse, while a bit dubious, but plausible, was that he wanted to get some drawing done. It was one of his lesser known talents, but one that those closest to him like Anna and Gabriel, were well aware of, and would vouch for him enough that no one would bother him about it further. It was one of the few things, aside from smoking, riding his bike, and trying not to look too hard at Dean Winchester when they were in the same space, that he considered one of his hobbies.

Inias picked him up for work, with Gabriel already in tow, and Castiel came out carrying his lunch, and a small leather portfolio that carried his charcoals and sketch paper. Whether or not he would get any actual sketching done was up for debate- it wasn’t often he showed his work off- but he felt it was more plausible to use it as an excuse if it looked like he had the plan to do it all along.   

 He had planned the entire thing out the night before, right down to what he would do if he got to the garage and Dean wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

Castiel had stripped out of his button down to his white undershirt once he clocked out for the day, and tossed it over one shoulder while he smoked and walked toward the Winchester garage. His portfolio was tucked under one arm, and he actually had spent his lunch trying to sketch Sam from memory, so if anyone got suspicious that he wasn’t actually doing what he claimed he was, he’d have something to show them. The bruise on his jaw was starting to yellow and fade, and his lip had healed over, so he hoped he looked a little better than the last time Dean had set eyes on him.

He wasn’t far from the garage when he met Sam coming up the road in the opposite direction. He was wearing an old, beat-up looking rucksack, which Castiel recognized because Anna’s father had brought a similar one home with him when he had come back from his stint in France. It didn’t really strike Castiel as unusual, but the fact that he was leaving the garage did. After seeing Dean’s reaction to finding the two of them together outside of the drugstore almost a week earlier, Castiel was surprised that Sam was allowed out of Dean’s vicinity at all if it wasn’t for school. If Sam had been anyone else, that fact probably would have bothered him, but he had decided already that he liked the kid, and so he didn’t think he minded having him around, even if that meant his prospects of finding himself alone enough with Dean to ever make any kind of move narrowed considerably. The hundred-watt grin he got when Sam noticed him was enough to reinforce the notion that Castiel was genuinely fond of him.      

“Hey, Cas,” he said a little breathlessly as he jogged up to him. His eyes were bright, and his floppy fringe gave him the impression of a slightly over-sized puppy.  

Castiel stopped to talk to him, and out of some subconscious level of respect, dropped his cigarette and rubbed it out with the toe of his boot even though he had scarcely finished half of it.   

“How’s it going?” he asked. “Staying out of trouble?”

Sam blushed, “Yeah. I’m good. Are you coming to check on your bike? I’ll walk back with you. We just got back from picking up some tires, so Dean’s probably unloading them now. I was going to spend the night with a friend from school- we have a project due tomorrow, so we were going to finish it and just have his mom take us both to school in the morning rather than have Dean have to come and get me when we finished. But since you’re here, I don’t mind walking you in before I go. Dean could probably use the company. I think he gets lonely when I’m gone,” Sam joked.  

Castiel’s brows lifted and he shrugged, “Yeah. Sure. Is your brother okay with you going on your own? You probably won’t get hassled again, but he seems… protective,” Castiel said carefully, not wanting to offend either of them.

Sam scoffed, “Remember how I said Dean likes to act like he’s my mom? Well, even though that’s true, he can sometimes be convinced to be a reasonable, slightly cool, older brother. Besides, I promised him I’d call the shop when I got there so he wouldn’t worry.” Sam rolled his eyes, and turned and started toward the garage with Castiel.

“I get it,” Castiel was a little amused by how frank Sam could be. He thought it might have been the reason he liked him in the first place. He wasn’t cruel or mean, just plainly honest.

“What’ve you got there?” Sam asked, and jerked his chin in the direction of the portfolio under Castiel’s arm.

“Oh, uh,” Castiel cleared his throat and shifted the portfolio’s position, “just some sketches. I was in the mood to draw.” It wasn’t exactly untrue, though he wasn’t about to admit that it was mostly his excuse to ditch his friends in order come stare longingly at Sam’s brother either.    

“Can I see?” Sam had that overeager puppy look again, and Castiel thought maybe he had used a similar look to get Dean to let him walk to his friend’s house on his own.

Besides the sketches he had done of Sam at lunch that day, there were some older ones in there as well. Most of them were of guys from The Garrison, there were quite a few of Anna, and handful of quick random studies he had done of various things from hands to stray dogs.

He handed the portfolio over, and then stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for the pack of cigarettes he had rolled in his shirtsleeve.

Sam looked through the sketches as they walked, and Castiel refused to look at anything but the ground, which became intensely interesting once he had handed his sketches over to Sam.

“You did all these? They’re pretty amazing, Cas. And are these… is this me? I never would have guessed you were an artist!” He sounded excited, maybe even a bit flattered.

“Most people don’t,” Castiel conceded. He might have said more, except that they had reached the garage, and what he saw when he looked up made his mouth go dry.

Just as Sam predicted, Dean was unloading tires from the back of his truck. There he was in all his sun-streaked, freckled glory, a white tee-shirt, like his own, stopping just at the waistband of those thigh-hugging Levi’s, everything straining as he hefted a tire from the truck bed and carried it into the open garage. Oh Christ. Oh Lord. Oh God. This was not… Castiel felt he had made a grave miscalculation somewhere as Sam called for Dean and approached him to show him his drawings, which could have thrown him into an entirely different crisis if he wasn’t still so focused on how Dean’s sweat made his thin cotton shirt cling to his chest and back.

Dean had paused to talk to his brother, pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his neck and face, and Castiel found himself wondering if it was the same one he had used to dab blood from his lip the week before. Dean looked at the drawings Sam showed him, and when he finally looked up at Castiel and those green eyes met his, Castiel couldn’t have told him the day of the week if he had been asked right then. But hell if he was going to come this far just to lose his nerve because Dean looked good in his clothes when he was moving things. He looked good all of the time, and that was just a fact he was going to have to learn to live with, so Castiel just stared back at him and tried not to think about how badly he needed a smoke to take the edge off of his nerves.

Sam motioned him over, and maybe he said something too, but Castiel had no idea what it might have been. He had been wholly unprepared to be assaulted so immediately with the Glory that was Dean Winchester, despite thinking that maybe by this time next week he would have discovered something about Dean that would have turned him off of him completely. At the moment, that seemed entirely unlikely.

He sent the command to his feet to move, and eventually, he found himself standing near the Winchesters—Sam, and half a foot of space between himself and Dean.      

“Hey, Cas, you think you could draw Dean too?” He flipped through the sketches one more time before handing them back over.

Castiel, who had been staring at Dean because Dean hadn’t stopped staring at him, looked down at Sam, a little startled.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice a little cracked from the effort of trying to use it when his entire mouth had gone dry with desire. He cleared his throat, “I haven’t tried, so I don’t know.” Before today, he wouldn’t have drawn Dean if someone had offered to pay him. It felt like if he did that, there would be absolutely no hiding what it was he thought every time he set eyes on him. It wasn’t like he had anyone looking through his sketches on a regular basis, but he hadn’t wanted to take that risk, and had staunchly avoided making Dean the subject of any of his drawings.

Sam frowned a little and opened his mouth to speak again, but Dean ruffled his hair and cut him off, “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Go on before I change my mind about letting you go,” Dean told him.

Sam ducked out of Dean’s reach, patted his hair back into place and headed back up the road again, “See you ‘round, Cas.”

“Don’t forget to call when you get there,” Dean called after him. “And no shortcuts!”

Sam raised his hand in acknowledgement, and they watched him until he disappeared over the hill.    

And then the realization set in on Castiel that he was utterly alone with Dean. He had not accounted for that. At least not so early in the game. He had assumed Sam would be around to act as a buffer between them. Talking to Sam was easy-- Sam talked a lot-- and Castiel thought of him like he thought he might think of a younger sibling if he’d had any.

“Sam said you were back for a bike update,” Dean spoke, and Castiel did his best to compose himself.

He could do this. The whole point of coming was to rid himself of these kinds reactions by spending time learning Dean’s flaws. Maybe he was physically perfect, but people tended to be less appealing the more he knew about them, so hopefully that would be the case with Dean as well. He’d move on and laugh at himself when he thought about all the time he spent wanting a guy that… he didn’t know… killed kittens in his spare time or something. That would definitely be a deal-breaker. Cats were a gift.

“Yeah, I, uhm… was on my way through. So I thought I might as well stop in,” he turned to look at Dean, and tried not to be terribly obvious as he looked him over. He didn’t think he was going to be able to help himself when it came to that, even if Dean turned out to be a serial killer. The hem of his shirt had bunched up on one side, revealing a sliver of skin, and Castiel made himself bring his attention back to Dean’s face, which, to be fair, was a pretty even trade-off as far as he was concerned.

“Well, to be honest, things have been a little hectic,” Dean admitted, and he shifted his hand to rest on the back of his neck. “Engine rebuilds can take a while, especially on a bike as old as yours. Besides, like I mentioned before, it gets pretty busy here the last few weeks of school, so I’ve been caught up with smaller jobs. I've got a new tire for you here though.” He patted the truck bed and moved to haul a smaller tire out of it. “You can watch me put it on if you wanna stick around.”

Dean carried the tire into the shop, and Castiel reached across himself and ran his fingers along the outline of the cigarette pack in his sleeve before he followed after him. Dean didn't like smoking, so he'd resist doing it around him for as long as he could.

It wasn't until he was properly in the garage that Castiel realized Dean had the wireless playing again, a familiar toothpaste jingle drifting through the air rather than an actual song. He had been so distracted he hadn’t noticed it while they had been outside.

Dean led him to the same corner of the shop he had shown him before, and once again removed the tarp he had draped over his bike once he had set the tire down nearby. “The actual frame wasn’t really too bad off, the wheel took most of the damage, so this, at least, is an easy fix. The body work might take me a little while, but she’ll look good as new once I finish. Were those wings a custom job? I can try and get in touch with whoever did them and get them to give you a good rate on a repaint.” Dean grabbed a wrench and started in on his task.

“You could say that,” Castiel told him as he rubbed his thumb back and forth along the corner of his portfolio. “I painted them on it myself, so you don’t need to contact anyone.” He was watching Dean’s hands move as he worked, and trying not to imagine how they might move on other things if given the chance. There was a streak of grease on one of his tanned forearms, and Castiel could see the muscles moving beneath it as he tightened the bolts on the tire.

“Even better. Can’t get it wrong if you’re doing it yourself. Are you aiming for art school or somethin’? Those sketches you did of Sammy were pretty good. When did you have time?”

Castiel ran the palm of his free hand down his thigh, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that Dean looked his way when he did. “No, not really.” He hadn’t thought too much about the future or a career once he had graduated high school. Dreaming about skipping town on his bike was one thing, but he was dutiful if nothing else and he had a responsibility to Anna, The Garrison, and at one time, to what was left of his family. There was the factory, and when he had been younger, he just sort of assumed that was where he would end up whether he liked it or not. His father had worked there before the war had taken him away, and his grandmother had worked there until she had gotten too sick to be there. It was that or the mines an hour out of town, which was where Anna worked as a receptionist, along with some of the other guys, but he had never liked the idea of spending most of his time underground. He had never thought of college, certainly not something as seemingly aimless as art school, and it was almost surprising to him that Dean, of all people, would have been the one to suggest it to him.

“At lunch. I work at the glass factory. I never thought much beyond that,” he admitted. He didn’t think it was something he was especially proud of, but he thought he derived most of his pride from being part of something—The Garrison—more so than where he worked or what he did.

Dean sort of shrugged as he tightened the last bolt on the wheel, “I dropped out of school. Took over here as soon as I could. Never thought much past looking out for Sam.” He cleared his throat and put his wrench back on the tool tray he had gotten it from. “So you don’t need to impress me,” there was a wrinkle between his brows, like he was thinking about more than he was actually saying.

“What is it?” Castiel didn’t know what made him ask. He didn’t say much, and seldom asked questions about anyone else’s state of mind because he didn’t like to be asked about his own. It was just that with Dean, he couldn’t really help wanting to know what sorts of things went through his head. He didn’t talk as much as Sam, and Castiel had rarely seen him exchange more than pleasantries with anyone else, so he found himself curious.

 Dean shook his head, “Nothin’. It’s just... you’re not really what I thought.” He seemed amused, and there was almost a smile on his face as he covered the bike again, and moved to rattle around under the hood of the car he had pulled into the first bay of the garage.

Castiel didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered, and he followed Dean to where he was, and stood next to the tool cart he had wheeled over with him. “What’s that supposed to mean,” he asked. He tried not to sound defensive, but he wasn’t sure it came out right. This was more than he had ever spoken to Dean, and he found that talking to him was even more compelling than watching him. “What did you think?” He couldn’t really imagine Dean having any thoughts about him at all, seeing as how they barely ever came in contact.

The phone rang then, a dull clanging that came from the little office where Castiel had first come into contact with Sam. Dean lifted his head and immediately disappeared into the other room, leaving Castiel alone in his surroundings.

He set his portfolio aside, and once again took in the space, how utterly neat it was despite the fact that it could have been an easily justifiable mess. Which was the argument Castiel generally used when Anna complained that it was time for him to clean his apartment. He took time to examine the tool cart, where he caught sight of a filthy, but obviously embroidered kerchief sticking out of one of the drawers.

Castiel wasn’t a generally nosy person, but he knew precious little about Dean Winchester, and he couldn’t help his curiosity. He checked that Dean was still on the phone, and seeing that he hadn’t come back out of the office, carefully tugged the little drawer open.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but the piece of cloth, which had probably been white at one time, but was grease stained and grubby now, had ‘Mary’ carefully stitched in the corner. A lump formed in Castiel’s throat, and he closed the drawer again before he got himself into trouble. _Mary._ Did he have a sweetheart? Dean always seemed to have some sort of rag on him, were they also stitched with that name? Had they been together long? Were they in love?

Dean came back out of the office before his thoughts had the chance to get too much farther, and he announced that Sam had made it to his friend’s house safely, which barely registered with Castiel. He thought he grunted in acknowledgement, and meanwhile tried to steer his mind away from thoughts of ‘Mary.’ It wasn’t as though he had thought he’d had any chance with Dean anyway. He was too good-looking not to have someone.

He cleared his throat and grasped for the thread of their conversation before Sam had called, “What did you think?”

Dean looked momentarily puzzled, and he clarified, “Of me. You said I’m not what you thought. So what did you think?”   

“Oh,” Dean shrugged and got back to work. “Uh, I’ve seen you around before,” he was using a socket wrench, and cranking it after each word. “Didn’t know your name or anything, but you’re usually with a few of those guys with the jackets or that or that pretty redhead, bringing in beaters and asking about parts. I just figured…” he shrugged, and let his assumption hang between them. “Hand me that flat-head, will you?”

Castiel pressed his lips together and tried to suppress the flare of jealousy he felt at Dean’s description of Anna. She was pretty, but that didn’t mean he had to say it. And what about Mary? Was he one of those guys? The lady-killer type? He reminded himself that neither Anna nor ‘Mary’ were the ones alone in the shop with him right then, and that even though he was with him now, the chances of anything coming about with Dean were slim to none. Like with a watch in a shop window, he could look, but he couldn’t touch, and the whole purpose of coming in was to get close enough to him that he could see that all Dean really amounted to was a cheap piece of nickel covered in gold paint. Then maybe he wouldn’t want him as badly as he did.

“I need a smoke,” he muttered. He handed over the screwdriver before he unrolled his pack from his sleeve, and very courteously went outside of the garage to light up. If he had been Hess or Josiah, he probably would have lit up right there and dropped his half-finished butt in a puddle of oil out of spite. He wasn’t particularly spiteful though, even on his worst day, and he would rather just smoke and sulk than go out of his way to do something dastardly.

This had been a bad idea. He had wanted to check on his bike, but sticking around… he should have just gotten an update and gone. This was not going to work. Whatever was in him that made him want to be near Dean was something that he would need to learn to snuff out. Because between Anna and ‘Mary’ he didn’t stand a chance.

“I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

Castiel was halfway through his second cigarette and so deep in thought about how he was going to get himself over the whole mess, that he almost hadn’t heard Dean walk up. If he had been a guy in another gang, he would have had ample opportunity to take him out.

Dean had his portfolio, which he had set aside when he had followed Dean over to the other car and forgotten in the shop, in one hand, and to his credit, he did look sorry as he held it out for him to take.

“I’m not offended,” Castiel told him honestly, as he took the portfolio in one hand and shook the ash off the tip of his cigarette with the other. He was jealous. And that wasn’t the same thing. “The Garrison is my family,” he said. “Next to my bike, they’re all I have.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, his lit cigarette held loosely between his middle and index fingers. If Anna had been around, she would have made some joke about him catching himself on fire.

“I get that,” Dean said seriously. “I just meant, well, it’s sort of a rough crowd. And then, the other week with Sam, he wasn’t there when I went to pick him up from school, and when I saw him with you and you looked the way you did I-”

“The scumbags that were harassing Sam couldn’t get into The Garrison if their lives depended on it. They weren’t any of ours. If I had my jacket on that day, I doubt I would have had to use force at all. I don’t even think Lucky would have taken them.”        

“Lucky?” Dean’s brows lifted questioningly.

Castiel nodded and took a final drag before stomping his butt into the dirt, “Morningstar. He- some of his guys were the reason my bike is in the shape it’s in.” He hadn’t meant to say anything about how exactly his bike had come to be the way it was, but there was something about Dean that made him want to be honest with him. “They call themselves The Black Devils. Or just The Devils. It doesn’t matter. Gang politics probably aren’t all that interesting if you’re not part of one.”

“They’re trouble.” Dean had summed up everything he had said in two words.

It didn’t sound like an insult, just a simple statement of fact, and Castiel didn’t see any point in arguing with him. He was right. There wasn’t much good that came out of gangs except that if you were in a halfway decent one, you always had someone to look out for you.  It was time to go. He had stayed and talked for a while, and maybe that was a good enough start. He certainly wasn’t feeling as confident about his plan to make himself an essential nuisance at this point, and he felt he should probably regroup and evaluate the information he had gathered so far.

Dean huffed like he was frustrated with himself, “Look, I didn’t mean… Do you wanna get a drink with me?”

Castiel nearly broke his neck with how quickly he turned to look at Dean at that question. He must have looked confused or something because Dean quickly followed up.

“Well, I mean, it’s just that Sam’s not gonna be home for me to get dinner ready for, and I kind of owe you for helping him before… I’m almost finished up here, so I thought if you wanted to wait around, I could buy you a drink. Or… you don’t have to, I mean, I just thought I’d ask. I don’t go out much, so it’s probably not really a good idea anyway.”

Castiel stared at him, and if he hadn’t been a little dumbfounded himself, he would have thought he saw Dean blush. And there was the rambling, which was kind of cute. In a very different situation Castiel might have allayed his fears with a kiss, and possibly, when he played this scene over in his head before bed that night, that’s exactly how it would go, but for now he needed to say something before Dean talked himself out of it.

“Yeah, sure.” Pretty much every part of him was screaming that this was an absolutely terrible idea, and if he had been in a fight instead of a staring contest with the most attractive man on the face of the planet, this is the moment where his instincts would have told him to stab the guy or risk biting it himself.  

“Really?” Dean’s slightly pinched expression eased, and he smiled a little, “Great. I’ll, uh, finish up and I’ll drive us.”

“Sure,” Castiel said again, and he wondered if something in his brain had broken—like a needle on a bumpy record—and made him say the same thing over and over again. “I know where we can go,” he managed.

\--

 

The bar Castiel directed them to bordered the next town over, and was one of the few places that he knew his guys generally avoided. It was technically neutral territory, but it wasn’t uncommon for Gordon’s or Lucky’s guys to end up there, so Anna had more or less forbade any of The Garrison from going there with no reason.

“You can drink anywhere,” was her decree, and no one had really ever argued with her about it because it was true. And now Castiel was going there, with the express purpose of avoiding his friends, because sometimes he was selfish. If Anna caught wind of it, she would chew his head off before he had time to open his mouth, but she’d only do it once they were alone, which would make it that much worse. She almost never contradicted him in front of the others, and he afforded her the same respect- a silent agreement that they needed to maintain a united front—even when they disagreed—if they were going to hold things together.

“Do you come here often?” Dean asked as they walked inside.

Castiel tried not to think about how much it sounded like a come-on.  

“Not really. It’s a little out of the way, but I thought you might want to try it since you said you don’t get out much.”

The bar wasn’t too crowded- it seemed like most of the people there were regulars, and once they were inside and Castiel didn’t recognize anyone immediately, he found himself able to relax a little more.

There were few people near the pool tables, and Castiel decided immediately that that was where they were going to be for the evening. Dean went to get their drinks, and Castiel grabbed a couple of pool cues for them. He didn’t think that he could deal with sitting close to Dean all night with nothing but beer and words between them, but if he had something to keep his hands and mind occupied, that might be all right.

“Do you play?” he asked as soon as Dean handed him his beer.

Dean shrugged, “I have before. I know how.”

Castiel smirked and handed him a cue, “All right.”

As it turned out, Dean was actually pretty good at pool. Much better than he had led Castiel to believe. And, maybe, if he had been paying more attention to the game, and less attention to how absolutely unfair it was that Dean should look as good as he did in a pair of Levi’s, he would have realized it before the guys from the next table over approached them. As it stood, he was more concerned with trying to decide if it would be entirely inappropriate to correct Dean’s form by touching him a bit more than was strictly necessary, and so before he knew it, Dean was doing all the talking, and they had gotten themselves into a wager.

“What are you doing?” Castiel questioned Dean while one of the other guys was racking up. “You do understand that they’re probably regulars here, and the two of us don’t stand a chance against the two of them? I don’t have fifty dollars to piss away.” He didn’t mean to sound as irritable as he did, but this was not what he intended when he agreed to come out with him, and despite being a decent pool player himself, he wasn’t confident enough in Dean’s abilities to place a bet on them.

“Lighten up, will you? Let’s just have some fun while we can.”

And how could he argue with those long-lashed eyes? Christ. He didn’t stand a chance. If he was going to lose, at least it would be for love.

They played, and, as he predicted, they lost. He was grumpy about it, and lit up without any regard for Dean’s preference. The whole bar was smoky anyway, and even half of that bet was half a years’ supply of smokes. He reached for his wallet, and Dean stopped him, implored the guys to give them one last shot, double or nothing.

Castiel could have lost his mind. He grabbed Dean roughly by the arm, for once unconcerned with the intimacy of contact between them.

“Have you completely lost it? I don’t have that kind of cash, Dean.” Castiel tried to keep his voice low and even, but he was at the limits of his control, and if he hadn’t been so enamored of Dean, was pretty certain he would have strangled him already. If Gabriel had tried to pull something like this, he would have dropped him where he stood before any other dumb ideas had a chance to cross his mind.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at their waiting opponents, both getting ready for what was about to be the easiest 100 bucks of their lives.

“Relax,” was Dean’s response, his voice smooth as molasses in summer. “If we lose, I’ll repair your bike free of charge. I’ll take care of you. Promise.” his hand had rested briefly at the small of Castiel’s back, and he moved away from him to join their game before any more words could be exchanged.

Castiel couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think. His fury had evaporated somewhere between “I’ll take care of you,” and the hand at his back. Dean was friendly. Sam was friendly. The Winchesters were just friendly people. It didn’t mean anything. None of it meant anything. And yet here he was, about to lose a month’s rent because he couldn’t function around some perfect, freckled, hayseed. Jesus Christ.

Dean was very good at pool.

So good, in fact, that it took Castiel much longer than it should have to realize that he had just hustled the guys they had been up against. It was the last thing he had expected from Dean, who seemed straightforward and, as far as he could tell, honest. And it made him want him that much more. Because if Dean could do that, could play the long game and pretend that he was average with him long enough to get the attention of those other guys, before eventually taking them for all they were worth, then there was more to him than Castiel had initially thought. Instead of wanting to distance himself like he had earlier, he wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything.

They left the bar before either of them were too drunk or anyone decided that they wanted to try to take the money they had just won. Dean was still laughing by the time they climbed into the truck, and Castiel thought he’d have suffered Dean’s trickery a thousand times over if it meant he got to hear that laugh again.

“Did you see the looks on their faces?” Dean started the truck and “Rock Around the Clock,” crackled through the speakers.

“Do you hustle pool often?” Castiel was thoroughly amused. Even he had heard this song on the radio a few times before, and he tapped along to the rhythm against the armrest on the door as Dean pulled out of the parking lot.

“Not often, no. Just on special occasions. Here,” he pulled the bills he had taken out of the shirt pocket of the flannel he had put on over his tee-shirt before they left the garage. “Take your half.”

“Keep it,” Castiel told him as he turned the window crank to roll it down. “Call it a down payment for my bike repairs.” He hadn’t lost any money, and he was happy enough with that. The only thing that would have made it better would have been a cigarette, but he recalled the threat in Dean’s voice when he had warned him off smoking in his truck, and refrained.

Dean sighed and tucked the money back in his shirt pocket. “Will you at least let me take you home this time? I’m not going back to the garage tonight.”

Castiel rested his head against the back of the seat, “Only if you tell me where you learned to play pool like that.”

He could feel the hush that fell over them, and he knew immediately that he had said the wrong thing, except that he didn’t know how to take it back. It was a stupid thing to say. He had just wanted a way to leverage more information out of him, and it was as close to flirting as he could ever manage to get, so of course it backfired.

“My old man taught me,” Dean said after a while. Some Dean Martin song was playing now, and Dean reached out to turn the station until he settled on Elvis.

Castiel had already determined that Sam was touchy about their dad for whatever reason, and it seemed that Dean was too, so he didn’t push the subject any further, and instead directed Dean to his apartment.

“Look, I’ll be going to get that engine part I need for you on Saturday. Sammy will be outta school, so we’re gonna make a day of it.” Dean was idling outside of his building, and Castiel was mostly just grateful that Anna didn’t seem to be around when they had pulled up. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had dropped in to check on him.

“That’s fine. I’ll just drop by in a week or so to check in again, I guess. Thanks for tonight.” He didn’t know what the proper protocol for this kind of thing was. He hadn’t hung out with anyone outside of The Garrison in so long that he wasn’t sure what the normal state of goodbyes were after the night they’d had. He opened the door and got out before he turned grab his portfolio from under the seat.

“Do you want to come?” Dean’s words came out in such a rush, Castiel almost didn’t catch them, and he stared across the cab at him with his portfolio in one hand. “I mean, I know Sam would like the company, and it’s your part, so I thought maybe you’d like to go to pick it up too. Especially since you mentioned you did your own work on the paint job. She seems pretty important to you, so, well, don’t feel like you have to. I just thought I’d ask.” Dean bit his lower lip uncertainly, and Castiel was glad he was already out of the truck.

He didn’t think he would have been able to stop himself from kissing him if they had been any closer.

“Yeah, sure.” His broken record response was all he had. Well, that, and the utterly breath-taking way Dean’s cheeks dimpled and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I think this chapter is a little longer? Hopefully you enjoy it! Next update might take me a little longer since I've recently started a new job, but I'll still be hard at work on it. I don't really think I do slow burns, but this might end up being classified as one by the time I'm through :P
> 
> ***Update***
> 
> After reading through this again, I realized there were quite a few grammar mistakes, and so I went back and corrected them. Updates will still be sort of inconsistent, but given that I found so many mistakes this time, will probably be once instead of twice a month for quality control purposes~


	4. Sh-Boom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trip? Progress?

“You know, the others think you’re running moonshine or something. Don’t know how, seeing as you still don’t even have your bike back, and you’re gone in the middle of the day most of the time, but no one ever said they were Harvard bound.” Anna was plucking at blades of grass while they both sat with their backs against the wheel well of her car. She had convinced him to skip out of work with her—play hooky like when they had still been in school—and they had packed lunches and driven out to the state-funded park. It was usually crawling with families in the summers, but it was still early in the season, and a weekday, so there weren’t too many people there.

They had their jackets with them, but neither of them were wearing them—it was too hot—and it was just the two of them anyway.

Castiel flicked ash from the tip of his cigarette and sighed, “I’m not running moonshine.” The truth was, he had been gone far more frequently than was usual for him. After his evening out with Dean, his mind had folded in on itself trying to figure out Dean Winchester. There was ‘Mary,’ which was something he tried not to think too much about, and then there were so many little things from that evening that had him wondering if maybe Dean wasn’t so interested in her (or Anna for that matter) after all. Things like Dean’s hand on the small of his back when he had laid into him for getting them into that bet, the way some variation of “I’ll take care of you,” always seemed to drip from his tongue like honey right when Castiel thought everything was going to fall apart, the way he looked when Castiel agreed to go out for drinks with him in the first place, or when he agreed to accompany him and Sam to get the part for his bike. It didn’t make sense to him that there could be all of that, and ‘Mary.’ So, he had kept to himself lately, and dropped in at the shop only a couple of times that week, during which he had mostly sat outside and talked to Sam. He hardly said two words to Dean. He was busy with oil and tire changes, and Castiel wouldn’t have known what to say to him even if he hadn’t been.

Of course, it could be that he was just pathetic—desperate for a guy that he had absolutely no business wanting to begin with. He never knew what to say to him without feeling like he was saying the wrong thing or risking exposing himself. 

Anna crossed her long, white legs out in front of her and looked over at him, “Then what are you up to? Because you’ve even been avoiding me lately. I can’t make excuses for you if I don’t know what’s going on, kiddo.”

Castiel shrugged, “I’ve just wanted to be alone. I don’t do anything. Usually just walk home, sometimes stop to check-in on my bike.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s that going? That mechanic taking care of you? You know I can handle it if he’s giving you the runaround. Or we can just tow it somewhere else, let our money do the talking,” she laughed a little.

Castiel, on the other hand, nearly choked at hearing her use Dean’s familiar phrase, which only made Anna laugh harder as she patted his back. He recovered after a moment and took another drag before he answered her. “It’s fine. He’s been… accommodating. It’s an old bike, and Al did a number on it.” A muscle in his jaw jumped and he finished his cigarette before he got too worked up about it.

He wondered whether or not he should tell Anna. She’d be inclined to decipher Dean for him, or at least talk him out of doing anything too ridiculous. He trusted her more than anyone else, and he knew that if anyone would understand, it would be her, but he just couldn’t bring himself to talk about something that essentially meant nothing. Especially when that nothing already felt like it meant far more than it should to him.

She bumped his shoulder and tucked a few wispy red strands behind her ear, “Seriously, though, you sure you’re okay? You know I’ve got your back. We all do.” 

Castiel let his head fall back against the car, the heat from the sun-warmed metal seeping through to his scalp. It reminded him of Dean’s hand on his jaw- weeks ago at this point- and he scowled at the thought. “I know. I’m okay,” he told her. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to tell her what he wanted or needed. He couldn’t imagine telling her that he wanted to leave town, that the thought that he could leave one day was sometimes all that got him through the day. He didn’t know how to explain to her that he had been avoiding them, not just because he needed the space—to think, to breathe—but because the only person he had ever really wanted for himself in his entire life was someone he simply wasn’t allowed to have. For more reasons than he could possibly count. He wanted to tell her; he just couldn’t. 

She seemed to sense that he wasn’t going to say more, and rather than press him, she let her head fall against his shoulder. It was her way of letting him know that whatever was bothering him, she planned to stick with him. Castiel wasn’t sure if that felt like more of a burden or a comfort, but for the time being, he chose not to trouble himself with it either way.

 

\--

 

Castiel was used to riding pressed against someone else in the cab of a truck. They were always piling into Inias’ to go one place or another- work, the diner, sometimes a race or a brawl. The noise of the guys laughing or joking was what bothered him more than the tight quarters. It was always such a stark contrast from when he was on his bike that he couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable on the occasions where he had to ride with them. It wasn’t ideal, but he was used to it, and nine times out of ten, it hardly bothered him at all. 

He wasn’t, however, used to being pressed between Dean and Sam Winchester in a truck cab with the only noise being the wind rushing through the open windows and Sam’s questions. 

He hadn’t meant for it to go like this. He was supposed to be riding next to the door like the first time he had ridden with them—Sam in the middle. He had gone over it in his head a dozen times by the time he had reached the garage, and had smoked almost as many cigarettes to get himself ready for Dean’s strict no-smoking-in-the-car attitude. Anna was similar, so he thought he was prepared. They were just riding a couple of hours out so they could pick up the part Dean needed for his bike. He could do that. Sam would be between them, taking up physical and verbal space, and he would only have to think about his attraction to Dean when he laughed or smiled or moved in front of him. It would be fine. 

Except that when he got there, things were almost immediately not fine. As usual, his first issue arose when he set eyes on Dean, who had been waiting on him with Sam outside of the shop. Sam was tossing a baseball in the air, while both he and Dean were leaned against the truck’s rear fender. Dean was wearing a white, sleeveless undershirt, just like the one that guy… what was his name? Brando. Like Marlon Brando had worn in A Streetcar Named Desire. Castiel remembered it only because Anna had dragged him to it, under pain of death if he let it slip to any of the guys that she had gone. Castiel hadn’t really cared one way or another, but Marlon Brando in that undershirt had been an unexpected bonus. And who was to know if he had bought a couple of the fan magazines that featured him afterward? Dean wore dark sunglasses too, and really, how dare he? 

Castiel wondered if he would always be nearly bowled over by the way Dean looked in whatever he wore. All he could see were those tanned arms, a little paler at the top where his shirt usually fell, muscled and perfect. Indecent was the only word that came to mind. It had been getting increasingly hotter as the season progressed from Spring to Summer. The nights were still a little cool, but the temperatures had been slowly creeping up, so it was a justifiable fashion decision, but it was one he wished Dean hadn’t made. His only solace, as he reminded himself to keep walking forward rather than turning around and heading home before he said or did something stupid, was that Sam would be between them in the truck. He could hang out the window and watch the wheat fields go by until they picked up the part Dean needed, and do the same thing on the way back. 

When Sam noticed his approach, he tossed his ball to Dean, and met Castiel before he reached the car. “Hey, Cas! You made it. I was excited when Dean told me he invited you to come along. When it’s just us I’m stuck listening to whatever he puts on the radio. Even if it’s awful.” Sam grinned at him and moved his hair from his face.

Castiel nodded his acknowledgement, and tried not to let his eyes drift Dean’s direction. If he didn’t look at him, he could pretend he wasn’t there. “Since my bike is the reason for the trip, I couldn’t turn him down when he asked.” Actually, he was doubtful he could deny Dean anything he asked of him, but no one had to know that. 

“Sammy, let’s get going,” Dean pounded on the roof of the truck to emphasize his desire to get on the road, and then went around to open the driver’s side door.

Sam glanced back at his brother, which only led Castiel to look at him too, and God, he was perfect. 

“C’mon, Cas,” he grabbed Castiel’s arm, and pulled him toward the truck. “Mind if I take the window seat? I’ll let you have it on the way back, if you want.” It was an innocent enough question, and it should not have induced the nearly instant panic it did in Castiel when Sam opened the door for them and he was faced with the prospect of sliding in next to Dean. 

Castiel’s fingers twitched, and he smoothed his hands down the sides of his pants a few times. 

“Not gettin’ any younger, here, Sammy.” Dean sounded impatient and he drummed his fingers along the top of the steering wheel. He had already started the truck. 

“Cas?” Sam sounded puzzled, and looked vaguely concerned. 

Castiel tugged a little at the collar of his shirt—a deep v-neck with a Cuban collar that he wore over a dark undershirt, tucked into his trousers—and then forced himself to climb into the truck. He should have smoked more. He let out a slow exhale as Sam climbed in next to him and shut the door. Dean pulled away, and Castiel focused on the road in front of them. He could feel his thigh pressed against Dean’s, and he refused to acknowledge to himself that it was there. That he could feel Dean’s thigh pressed all the way down the length of his. Dean had set Sam’s baseball on the dash, and Castiel grabbed it before it rolled away, primarily to give his anxious hands something to do. He shifted to try and put some space between them, but there wasn’t much room in the cab, and even though Sam was leaned against the door with his head nearly out of the window, there wasn’t far for Castiel to go. 

He bumped against Sam, who shifted to look at him, his head rested in the hand of the arm he’d previously been holding out the window. 

“You like baseball?” Sam’s brows were lifted, apparently genuinely curious about his answer. 

Castiel looked down at the ball he had been passing between his hands. He ran his thumb along one of the seams and shook his head. “Not really. You play on your school’s team or something?”

Sam shook his head too, “Nah. Dean used to though. He was good too. I bet he could’ve gone pro if he had tried. Right, Dean?” He looked across to his brother, and Castiel couldn’t help but look too. 

“I was pretty awesome,” Dean said, his eyes still hidden behind his shades, fixed on the road. His mouth had tugged up a little at the corners, but even Castiel could tell that it wasn’t quite a real smile. He’d watched him enough by now to know the difference. 

It wasn’t something he had expected. Dean the Jock. He could almost picture it, a handful of years back, before he had dropped out, and before he had grown up—a baseball glove and a jersey.

“What position did you play?” Castiel surprised himself with the question. He didn’t know much about baseball or care anything about it; he just wanted to hear Dean talk about himself. 

“Pitcher,” Sam beamed. 

Castiel’s attention was briefly directed back to Sam, and it was clear that he all but idolized his brother, which kept Castiel from shooting him any dirty looks for answering in Dean’s stead. 

“I pitched some,” Dean corrected, “but I mostly played third base. Just relief pitching, mostly.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, an expression that said that Dean was being modest, but he didn’t say more about it. “Dean taught me to play, but I’ve never been that interested in being on a team. I like to toss the ball around though. Did you play any sports while you were in school? When did you finish?” 

Castiel ran his thumb along the seam of the baseball again, and then pressed down on it until he could feel the indentions in his skin. It wasn’t lost on him that Sam had used ‘finished’ instead of ‘graduated.’ Lots of guys dropped out when their girlfriends got pregnant or they got a job that made enough money that their family didn’t have to worry for a change, but he got the notion it wasn’t something Dean had totally chosen for himself.

“Track,” he said flatly. “Class of ‘52.”

Sam’s brows lifted, and Dean laughed. The sound was bright, and unexpected enough that it nearly made Castiel jump, and he was reminded once again of how much he liked Dean’s laugh, and of how much he liked being the cause of such a warm sound. 

“Are you kidding?” Dean asked, though his voice was warmer than it had been since Castiel had arrived. “I never pegged you for a runner. With the smoking an’ all.” 

Castiel found himself melting and bristling simultaneously. He had almost started to believe that he had imagined Dean inviting him along entirely. He wouldn’t go so far as to call them friends, but they had been something approaching more than acquaintances after they had gone to the bar together. It just hadn’t felt much like it today with Dean’s short answers and shaded eyes. The frown he caught Sam sending Dean’s direction made him feel a little better though. 

Castiel’s brows knit together, and he thought if they had been outside, he would have reached for a cigarette by now. “I wasn’t,” he admitted. “I pole-vaulted for a while, and then decided I preferred the darkroom to the daylight. I just took as many art classes as they’d let me. Drawing, Photography, whatever.” That, and the fact that around the time he decided to quit the track team, he and Anna had started The Garrison and his time after school was spent helping build their reputation. 

“Do you take pictures too?” Sam asked him. “Those sketches were really good.” 

Castiel shrugged, “I lost access to the darkroom when I finished school. I’ve developed photos in my bathroom before, but the chemicals can be expensive, and I don’t always have the patience to set it all up just to take it down.” He handed the baseball over to Sam, who tucked it into the space between his seat and the door. “Gabriel also busted my last camera at a party, and I haven’t been able to get a new one,” he added irritably. He hadn’t wanted to bring it in the first place, but Gabe had insisted, and of course, it ended in disaster.

They lapsed into silence after that, and Dean reached for the radio dial to fill it all up again. Castiel realized that he hadn’t managed to get much more out of Dean than the fact that he had been on the baseball team while he had been in high school, and most of that had come from Sam. Sam seemed to be naturally inquisitive, and he sort of liked that about him. It was just that he wished he could turn it on Dean rather than himself. Of course, seeing as they were brothers, Sam had no reason to play twenty questions with Dean. Castiel would need to get better at using Sam’s questions to redirect the conversation to him when he got the chance. 

Eventually, Sam shifted in his seat and began feeling around under the bench, which forced Castiel to press against Dean that much more, and sent his pulse rabbiting before he knew it. He produced a book—The Odyssey—and settled back in his side of the seat to read. Castiel righted himself, his hand somehow finding its way to Dean’s thigh for balance as they rounded a curve, which they both seemed to realize at the same time. 

For the briefest moment, a particularly daring part of Castiel—probably the same part of him that allowed him to ride his bike and be part of a gang that technically operated outside of the law—very nearly left it there. Maybe he would take it a step further, run his hand up and down it to let Dean know exactly what he wanted. Fortunately, the more rational part of his brain was doing the driving, and he pulled his hand away, as casually as if Dean’s leg had been nothing more than a countertop. Anything else would have given him away. 

“Not for nothin’, Cas, but I’d ask that you buy me a drink first.” His voice was easy, almost bored, and short of initially looking down when Castiel’s hand had landed there, he never missed a beat. 

A sound, which Castiel might have passed off for a laugh, escaped him, and he wondered if this was what Hell would feel like when he made it there. Or maybe this was worse. Maybe this was purgatory, because, at the moment, he wasn’t sure he knew up from down. Flirting was not his strong suit. It wasn’t something that he typically attempted to do, and generally speaking, he wasn’t great at discerning when someone was flirting from when they were being overly friendly. But here he was, fairly certain that if Gabriel had been there, he would have taken it upon himself to inform Castiel that flirting was exactly what had been going on. 

“I wanted to, but you beat me to it,” he responded, in reference to their night out the week before. He couldn’t make himself look at Dean head-on again, could hardly believe he had managed the comeback at all (was it even a good response?), but he heard that huff of air, almost like a sigh, that meant he had made Dean laugh again. It was a small mercy that Sam seemed so engrossed in his book that he had missed the entire exchange, because Castiel spent the rest of the trip with his hands pressed between his thighs, every nerve in his body bright and alive, sparking every time he even so much as brushed against Dean. 

 

When they finally arrived, it was midday, and Castiel was a little surprised to find that they had come to what looked to be a junkyard. The place was remote, even more so than their little town, which was actually relatively close to larger cities when compared to this place. 

Dean eased the truck into the lot, near a slightly rundown, but fairly spacious, looking house. Sam popped out of the truck almost before Dean had stopped, his book forgotten on the seat, and Castiel followed out after him, desperate for a cigarette, and to put some space between Dean and himself.

“You’re determined to blow us all up, aren’t you,” Dean teased as he came around the truck and stopped with the passenger seat headlight between them. 

Castiel’s eyes traveled from the ground, up the length of Dean’s body, where they lingered longer than was decent on the way his sweat had that undershirt clinging to his chest and abdomen. He took a drag and forced himself to meet Dean’s eyes—he had taken off his sunglasses and hung them on his shirt—and very nearly lost all sense of self-control. It would be so easy to just… 

“You come here to stare longingly into his eyes, or to pick up a part?” 

Castiel paled at the sound of a new voice, his initial thought that he had been found out, his desire too obvious to be concealed any longer. 

Dean dropped his head, though he looked a little amused, “Good to see you too, Bobby.” He turned, and Castiel caught sight of the man the voice belonged to. He ruffled Sam’s hair, as he broke away from their hug, and then met Dean and pulled him into one as well. Dean seemed to drink in the hug, like he wasn’t used to having such affection on a regular basis. Castiel thought he knew what that sort of deficit felt like. 

“Been too long since I’ve seen you boys,” Bobby said as he pulled away. 

“I know. Sammy’s had school, and I’ve got the shop…” Dean sounded genuinely sorry, not like he was just making excuses. 

Castiel finished his cigarette and stood, unmoving, as Bobby patted Dean’s shoulder, like he was telling Dean there was no need to explain, because he already knew. It made him feel like he was intruding on something, some unexpected family reunion. 

“And who’s this delinquent?” Bobby stepped away from Dean and toward Castiel. Castiel frowned a little. There was something about Bobby—Castiel couldn’t quite place it—but he got the feeling he was as exactly as he appeared. He didn’t get the sense of a lot of bravado like he got from some guys he knew. “Down-to-Earth” was the term he’d probably use if pressed. He wasn’t sure he liked it. 

“C’mon, Bobby, leave him alone,” Dean ran his hand over the back of his neck. “He’s not a delinquent. He’s the guy I’m doing the work for. You know, the whole reason I came out here in the first place?” 

“Looks like a delinquent to me. And you thought it’d be a good idea to bring him out here, why? You take all your customers on road trips now?” Bobby’s brows lifted as he surveyed Castiel. Dean blushed. Castiel wondered what exactly it was about him that gave away his nature to Bobby. He didn’t think this would be the time to inform them that he had only been caught twice and only one of those times was on his record. 

“He’s our friend,” Sam quipped. He bounded back down the stairs of the porch from where he had met Bobby for his own hug, and from where he had been watching the exchange. “He puts up with Dean, even when I’m not around, so he can’t be bad, right?”

Bobby grunted, “Well, come on in. Got it all packaged up neat for you. It was a bitch to find, by the way. Might as well have some lunch while you’re here.”

Dean shook his head and laughed, and then followed bobby into the house. Sam seemed to sense Castiel’s unease over the whole thing, crossed to him, and put a companionable arm around his shoulder to walk him inside as well. 

“Uncle Bobby’s not so bad once you get to know him. He just doesn’t like surprises.”

“He’s your uncle?” Castiel’s brows knit together. He couldn’t really see a resemblance to either Sam or Dean, and he really hoped neither of them became as abrasive as he had been on first meeting. Though, just based on Dean’s nearly cold shoulder that morning, he could almost imagine it. 

“Well, he’s not our real uncle, but close enough. Dean and me lived here with him for a while when…” he seemed to think better of what he was about to say and instead patted Castiel on the shoulder as they went inside. “Well, anyway, he makes a mean BLT.” 

They stayed at Bobby’s long enough to have lunch—BLTs and beers for everyone except Sam, who had a Coke, and Castiel, who was a bit too ill-at-ease to drink—and for Bobby to grill the Winchesters on what they had been up to and whether or not they had been taking proper care of themselves. Dean assured him that things were fine, that if they needed anything they would definitely let him know, and Sam, did his best to loop Castiel into the conversation whenever it seemed appropriate. 

While he appreciated the effort, he would have been just as content to sit in the corner and say absolutely nothing. There was a box fan in the kitchen window, and he thought it filled any silence just as well as his own voice did. Although he didn’t think there was anything particularly sinister about him, Bobby simply made him feel uneasy. It was a little like the feeling he got when he thought that his feelings for Dean were showing a little too close to the surface. Like everyone could see right through him. He got the feeling that Bobby knew more from a single look at him than anyone else would have gotten in an entire conversation. 

When it looked like they were about to wrap things up, Castiel thanked Bobby for finding the part, and then excused himself to go smoke before they got back on the road. Bobby waved him off, and Castiel heard him send Sam out after him as he exited through the screen door and onto the porch. Apparently, he wanted a word alone with Dean. 

“When did you start smoking?” Sam had come to lean next to him on the porch railing, though he faced the house, while Castiel faced out toward Dean’s truck. 

“Probably when I was about your age,” he told him as he tucked his lighter back into his pocket. “Why?” 

Sam shrugged. “Just wondered. You do it all the time. Can I try one?”

Castiel glanced back over his shoulder at the screen door before directing his attention back at the lot, “Somehow, I don’t think Dean would approve.”

Sam gave a laugh that reminded Castiel of the way Dean laughed at some of the things he said, and he sighed heavily before he held his own cigarette out to him. 

“Make it quick. I’m not in the mood to fight him off.” He ran a hand through one side of his hair, and then patted it back into place as Sam, who had looked momentarily stunned, took it from him. 

“How do I do it?” he asked.

“Just…” Castiel glanced over his shoulder again to make sure Dean didn’t walk out and shoot him on the spot, “Slowly. And not all at once. You'll make yourself sick.” He pulled his shirt away from his skin to try and cool himself off. The air had heated up considerably since the morning, and there wasn’t much of a breeze.

Sam turned to face the lot too, and hesitated for a moment before carefully putting it to his lips and taking a drag. He looked sort of awkward, but for a second, Castiel thought maybe he had managed to do it successfully on his first attempt. Of course, that was right when he started to cough and sputter, and he held the cigarette out for Castiel to take as he tried to recover himself. Castiel took it and placed back between his own lips before he patted Sam's back firmly a couple of times in an attempt to keep him from coughing up a lung. 

“Maybe don't make it a habit of yours,” he told him. 

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean's voice came from behind the screen door just as Sam seemed to recover his breath, though his eyes were a bit red-rimmed and watery from the effort. 

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Fine. Just...uh, swallowed wrong.” 

Castiel bit back a laugh at the flimsy excuse, and Sam glared a warning, but couldn't completely hide his own smile. They had a secret. 

“All right...well, let's get going.” 

Castiel finished his cigarette and followed the brothers out to the truck. Dean put the packaged bike part in the bed, carried a few sweating Cokes Bobby had sent into the front, and much to Castiel's relief, Sam climbed into the cab first, without any prompting, snagging The Odyssey on his way across the bench. 

Bobby came out to wave them goodbye from the porch, and Dean got them back on the road. They had barely been driving twenty minutes when Sam looked up from his book and suggested they go swimming.

“We could stop at that place we went to last time we visited,” Sam had closed his book and put it in his lap in order to focus his attention on the task at hand. “It’s not far from here, right? C’mon, Dean, it’s already so hot today, it’ll be fun.”

“We gotta get back, Sam. Besides, it’s not just us today. Think about Cas, all right?” Dean had put his sunglasses back on to drive, and Castiel wondered if they were helping him block out Sam’s puppy eyes.

Sam immediately turned his attention to Castiel, “You don’t mind, do you, Cas? You can swim, can’t you? Tell Dean he should loosen up.”

“The water will still be cold,” Dean said. “It’s only just starting to get really hot, so the water’ll be freezing, even as hot as it is today.”

“You should loosen up, Dean.” Castiel didn’t really care one way or the other whether or not they went swimming. It was fun, however, to see the flicker of irritation on Dean’s features when he parroted Sam. The guys would probably miss him if he got back late, but other than that, he had no real reason to be back. And it was hot. His undershirt was definitely stuck to his back after being pressed against the leather of the seat. “I wouldn’t mind swimming. It would be nice to cool off.” 

“Perfect! You’re outnumbered, Dean. We’re going swimming.” Sam’s tone left no room for argument, and though Dean huffed and frowned, and generally made a show out of not getting his way, they eventually pulled off of the main road, and into the grass. 

They all got out of the truck and Castiel followed behind Sam, who took his arm and started off at a jog into the trees. For all he knew, he was being led to his death, and ‘swimming’ was the code word the brothers used for when they were itching to murder someone. In that case, he thought maybe it was a little touching that Dean had been so reluctant to go. 

It wasn’t long before Sam let go of him in favor of stripping out of his shoes, shirt, and jeans, and made a beeline for the little body of water that had opened up in front of them. It seemed too big to be called a pond, but Castiel wasn’t quite sure that it could exactly be called a lake either- he could see across to the other side without much difficulty, probably not much more than a mile. 

Castiel heard Sam gasp about the temperature of the water right around the time Dean decided to emerge from the trees. 

His sunglasses were gone, presumably left in the truck, and the way the sun filtering through the trees played off of his skin should have been made illegal. All of his freckles stood out, and there was the warmest glow to him, like he was lit up from the inside. Castiel hated himself for agreeing to this. 

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” Dean said as he bent to unlace his boots. He stepped out of them as he pulled his shirt over his head in one movement. “There’s no way you’re chickening out now after ganging up on me with Sammy.”

Castiel could not breathe.

What had he been thinking? What had made him think that swimming, of all things, was anything but an absolutely terrible idea? He swallowed thickly as Dean’s hands went to the button of his jeans, and he thanked whatever god there was that Sam shouted at them to hurry up, and thus gave him a reason to look away. He wasn’t sure he would have had the force of will to do it just then if he hadn’t. 

“Don’t make me come out and drag you in,” Dean’s voice was in his ear, a teasing lilt to it, his hand on his shoulder, and for exactly two seconds, Castiel’s world had focused down to those two points, and the way the sun caught the vivid green of his eyes as he leaned in to talk to him. And then he was gone, sprinting for the water, where he jumped in and immediately splashed after Sam. 

Every hair on Castiel's body was on end, and it took another minute for him to make his body work enough to slip out of his socks and loafers, and eventually, his shirts and trousers. It would be a miracle if he survived this. Dean was occupied trying to overthrow Sam, who had climbed onto his back and was doing his best to take him down, and so Castiel took the opportunity to get into the water unnoticed. He sucked in a sharp breath when the water hit his skin—it was definitely colder than he had been expecting. He waded out a little farther, to try and get his body adjusted to the temperature of the water. Even with as hot as it was outside, the water was a little too cold to be immediately comfortable. 

“Cas, save me!” Sam shrieked as Dean pulled him over the top of his head and tossed him into the water a couple of feet away. 

Castiel barely had time to process what was happening, or how Sam had managed to notice he was there, before Dean was coming for him next. There was a look in Dean’s eyes that Castiel had never seen before—something impish and determined, and wholly arousing—and Castiel knew instantly that if Dean got a hold of him, he was absolutely done for. 

He tried splashing him to ward him off while he backed in the opposite direction, water up to his hips and getting deeper, but Dean had no intention of backing off, and kept coming. Whether it was reflex from years spent in street tussles or some extreme sense of self preservation, when Dean grabbed for him, Castiel ducked under his arms and ended up behind him. Dean seemed momentarily stunned that he had been out manoeuvred, and Castiel took the opening to wrap his arms around him just long enough to lift him and toss him to the side. It was more to get Dean away from him than anything, but Sam, who had recovered nearby, gave a whoop of victory, and then slung an arm around his neck as they approached one another. Castiel grinned at him, the panic he had felt at being so close to Dean’s nearly naked body beginning to subside. 

“If we stick together, Dean won’t stand a chance!” 

Castiel agreed and ruffled Sam’s hair as he gave him an affectionate shove toward the middle of the lake. 

Dean’s head broke the surface of the water again, and Castiel felt better now that there was a little distance between them. Dean’s hair was dripping and he looked a little less cocky than he had previously. It made Castiel laugh, and that too eased some of the tension he had felt earlier. While the idea of Dean being so close was nice to dream about, in reality, he didn’t need that kind of stress. The only thing worse than wanting him, would be Dean knowing that he wanted him. Maybe one day he’d be able to be that close without having to think about it--maybe by the time Dean had finished with his bike--but today was not that day, particularly when he had been so newly assaulted by what it was to see him shirtless and wet. 

“You're stronger than you look,” Dean pointed out as he swam toward them. “Faster than I expected too.” 

Castiel moved toward Sam, who snickered and swam farther toward the middle, where the water reached their shoulders. It wouldn't necessarily keep them safe from any revenge Dean planned to exact on them, but Castiel felt more or less secure in the idea that he wouldn't try lifting him when they were so far out. 

“And you're not as heavy as you look. Sam and I can definitely take you,” he warned. Sam nodded and sent a splash in Dean's direction as if to prove a point. 

Dean grinned and swam closer, close enough to touch, but Sam and Castiel were both on guard. 

“Truce?” Dean extended his hand to them, his lopsided grin still in place.

Castiel gave him a wary look, and then glanced at Sam, who glanced at Dean and shrugged. He stayed close though, and that, at least, made Castiel feel like maybe a truce was acceptable. 

“Truce…” he agreed tentatively. He still didn't know the Winchesters well enough to know whether or not Dean was going to double cross him and return the favor of tossing him aside, by pulling him under once they shook hands. He took Dean's hand, and he felt it all the way up his arm, like a spark. If they had been dry, he felt like he might have seen sparks between them. 

Dean let go, and Castiel swam to Sam's other side just to burn off some of his nervous energy. 

“Hey, Dean, what'd Bobby say to you earlier? When he kicked me out.” Sam floated on his back while he listened for the answer, which meant only Castiel caught the way Dean's features clouded before he answered. 

He swam over and tugged Sam’s ankle hard, “He wouldn't have talked to me in private if he wanted Tom, Dick, and Harry to know what he had to say.”

Sam flailed for a moment, and cried out that Dean had called a truce before asking that Castiel avenge him. They went on like that for a while more, swimming circles around one another, Castiel letting Sam jump off of his shoulders, and Dean occasionally breaking their truce to tease one or the other of them. 

Eventually, they climbed back onto the bank, and lacking any towels, air dried for a while before getting dressed. Dean toweled himself off with his undershirt before tossing it at Sam so he could do the same. Castiel didn't bother trying to dry himself any further, and instead tried to focus on not watching Dean as he dried water from his body and slid Levi's over undershorts that left little to the imagination. 

“We should come out here again,” Sam said as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Once it gets hotter and the water isn’t as cold.” He pushed damp hair out of his face and looked expectantly as Castiel, who was fumbling with his fly, and watching Dean, who still hadn’t pulled his shirt back on, from the corner of his eye. 

Castiel cleared his throat when he realized Sam was waiting on his answer, and smoothed his fingers through his own hair. “Yeah, sure. We should probably plan it better- bring swim shorts, at least.” 

“What, Cas? Skinny-dipping not your style?” Dean tossed his dampened shirt over one shoulder as he waited for Sam and Castiel to finish dressing.

“We weren't swimming naked, Dean. I'd just rather we come prepared than not.” Nevermind the fact that if skinny-dipping had been what had occurred, Castiel was sure they'd be having a very different conversation right then. 

Dean laughed and shook his head, “Weren't you the one saying I should lighten up, earlier? You and Sammy, both. Next time, I say we plan to skinny-dip. I'll make sandwiches.” His grin was teasing, and even Sam laughed at the joke, but Castiel wasn't sure he found it funny.

He finished tucking his shirt in and headed back toward the truck without waiting for either of the Winchesters. If Dean wanted to play the tease and show off all of his perfect glory, Castiel didn't have to subject himself to it. 

 

It was almost dusk by the time they reached his apartment. Sam and Dean had made easy conversation the whole way home, which meant Castiel had been required to offer very little in regards to complete sentences. He dozed off and on a little, having Sam between him and Dean enough to let him relax a little. 

Dean pulled the truck along the curb in front of his apartment, and Castiel bit back a swear when he realized that Dean had parked right in front of Anna's car. He did not need this right now. The last thing he wanted was for Anna, Dean, and himself to all be within fifty feet of each other at the same time. If the two of them started making eyes at each other, he'd burn up with jealousy. The thought made him recall ‘Mary’ and the handkerchief of hers he'd found only a week or so before. By the time he opened the door to let himself out, his mood had darkened considerably. 

“I'm glad you came with us, Cas.” Sam was talking to him through the open window of the door he had just closed. “I had fun at Bobby's. And swimming. Dean never would have agreed if you hadn't been there too,” he grinned, the glimmer of their shared secret smoke in his eye, and Castiel's irritation deflated a little. He couldn't help liking the kid. He always seemed to be genuinely pleased he was around. 

“Yeah, no sweat. I had fun too.”

“I thought we should invite you to dinner, but someone didn't think you'd want to come tonight. But one of these days, you'll have to come over and Dean will cook for both of us.” He gave a pointed glance in Dean's direction, and when Castiel looked at him, he was a little surprised to see that Dean’s eyes were on the steering wheel, and, he looked almost embarrassed. 

“I think I'd like that,” Castiel said slowly, in certain as to what Dean's reaction would be. “I'm an awful cook. I'll see you two later.” He stepped back from the truck and reached for his cigarettes. He'd need to smoke if he was going to deal with Anna after this.

“I'll start on your engine rebuild this week,” Dean said, and he finally looked Castiel's direction. “Shouldn't take long now that I've got that part from Bobby. You'll come by in a couple of days?” 

Castiel nodded dumbly, his lungs already full of smoke. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought Dean almost sounded earnest—like he wanted him at the shop just to visit, rather than to update him on his progress. Whatever his motivations, Castiel didn’t need to be asked twice. 

Dean flashed him a smile, and Sam waved as they drove off and left Castiel to smoke on the sidewalk. He exhaled, glanced up at his apartment window, and prayed that Anna had been on the opposite side of the apartment while he had been dropped off. 

 

“Hey, Cassie! You’re here! It’s about time,” Gabriel was sat on his kitchen counter, his mouth stained red from the sucker he was working on. 

‘Bad Luck,’ should have been his middle name. 

It wasn’t terribly common for any of the guys apart from Anna to show up at his apartment, but it had happened a time or two in the past, and it had always been Anna’s doing. Though, this time he wasn’t sure if she had brought reinforcements or if Gabriel had strong armed his way into coming with her. 

Castiel scowled, and closed the door behind him as anna emerged from the bathroom. It was one of the rare days where she had decided to wear a skirt, pencil thin, and fitted to her shape, and he noticed that both her and Gabriel were wearing their jackets, though Anna’s was draped over her shoulders rather than actually on. It was a not-so-subtle reminder to him that he was meant to be part of their group, something greater than himself. His own jacket was draped over the chair at the tiny desk in his room. He rarely ever thought about wearing it when he was around Sam and Dean.

“Is there a reason you’re here?” He tried to keep the irritation from his voice, but he was sure it had seeped through anyway. 

“We’ve missed you, man!” Gabriel jumped down from the counter, and Castiel spared him a brief glance before he locked eyes with Anna. He thought they had come to an understanding when they had been at the park, but now he wasn’t quite sure. 

“A bunch of the guys wanted to come along and force you to come out with us tonight,” Anna told him evenly. “I managed to get it down to just Gabe. He wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Inias and Joe weren’t much better. Be glad it’s just us.”

For what it was worth, he was. He didn’t think he was in any fit state of mind to deal with all the rest of the guys, especially crowded into his tiny apartment. And of everyone who could have shown up with Anna, Gabriel wasn’t the worst. He might have preferred Inias- he tended to talk less- but they had known Gabriel a long time, and he was able to be relied upon when it counted, even if it wasn’t a regular part of his nature. 

“Hey, who was that that dropped you off,” Gabriel asked, his tone a bit more sober than it had been when he had arrived. “I know you don’t have your bike right now, but if you needed a ride, we could have come and got you.”

Castiel closed his eyes and sighed, before he crossed the room and dropped onto the sofa. He could have lied, but it wasn’t his best skill, and as it was one of Gabriel’s better ones, he decided not to tempt fate. Getting caught in a lie would be worse than telling the truth. Besides, it wasn’t as though he had done anything worth lying about. It was more a matter of privacy, of having a life outside of the Garrison, which wasn’t really something any of them were used to. 

“I didn’t need a ride. It was a… friend.” He could call Dean that, right? They could be considered friends after today. He thought that Sam, at very least, might consider them such. 

Gabriel cocked a brow, “A friend? You don’t have any outside of us.”

Anna crossed her arms over her chest, also clearly awaiting an explanation. Standing right next to each other, they looked intimidating enough, even if Gabriel’s sucker took away from the overall image a bit. He could see why doors opened and ways parted for them when they arrived anywhere en masse. 

“I have a life outside of The Garrison.” It wasn’t the right thing to say, certainly not the most diplomatic, but he wanted it to be true. He wanted to leave town one day. He wanted to find whatever it was in life that was supposed to make him feel like he knew what he was meant to be doing. He wanted Dean Winchester. And even if he never got any of that, if he was stuck in his apartment until the factory killed him, and all he ever got from Dean was a friendly touch and smile, he still wanted there to be something for him outside of the Garrison. Even if it was just a cat or a place he could go where none of them would follow him. Until now, his bike had been a solace in that way. And in the absence of that, he had gained a tenuous relationship with the Winchester brothers. He’d take it for what it was worth right now. 

Anna looked a little like she had been slapped, but Gabriel took it in stride. “Sure, but who was it you were with? You on the hook or somethin’? I mean, if it’s a girl, no one is gonna complain if you bring her around, even if it’s not serious. C’mon, spill. What’s the tale, nightingale?”  
Castiel avoided Anna’s eyes and cleared his throat. Gabriel didn’t know how close her was. This all would have been a lot easier if it had been a girl. “Nothing. It’s not a girl. He’s… just a guy I know. And he’s square, so I didn’t want to get him mixed up with any of us if he didn’t want to be. That’s all.” That wasn’t all, of course. He was pretty sure Anna could tell that wasn’t all, even if he was refusing to look at her for the moment. But he didn’t have to say more than that. He was allowed to have a private life.

“Sure, sure,” Gabriel bit his sucker in half before he continued. “But if you’re gonna hang out with a square, you gotta make time for us too, you know? And maybe bring him around once in a while. We can behave for a couple of hours if you give us a head’s up, right Anna? You’ll help keep the boys in line, won’t you?”

“That, or maybe we’ll rub off on him,” she said. It might have sounded like a joke if her voice hadn’t been so cold.

“I’ll keep that in mind…” Castiel still didn’t like the idea of mixing business with pleasure, so-to-speak, and besides that, he didn’t think he’d be able to check his jealousy if it overcame him at the wrong time. He’d have a whole different set of troubles then. As it stood, he more or less had Dean all to himself, with the exception of Sam, who he was willing to make an allowance for because of his fondness for him. If he introduced Dean the The Garrison, that would disappear. 

“‘Atta boy,” Gabriel grinned and threw his arm around him as he settled next to him on the couch. “So, get ready, you’re coming out tonight, like it or not.” 

 

Anna’s frostiness did not subside after their night out. She and Gabe had waited on him to shower and change, and when they climbed into her car, it was almost as though he wasn’t there. And by the time they picked up the rest of the guys and started their caravan into the city, he could have been invisible entirely. 

Castiel knew that he had offended her with his remark about having a life outside of The Garrison, but her disappointment in him seemed to run deeper than that. Of course, neither of them talked about it, and it had been over a week. It wasn’t unusual. Anna didn’t like to talk about problems when they arose, and Castiel didn’t like to push his luck. Rather than make an attempt to talk about it, he avoided the garage. It wasn’t an even trade off- he was giving up talking to Dean in favor of not talking to Anna, but the guys were happier in general with him around, and they all talked enough for the both of them. Besides, he didn’t think either of the Winchesters would miss him too terribly much. 

There was the possibility that Dean was backed up with other jobs, more oil changes or tire rotations, whatever it was that mechanics did, and hadn’t gotten to his bike at all. Despite the fact that he felt a little bad he hadn’t shown up after a few days to check-in, particularly when he remembered the earnest way Dean had asked him about it, he eased his guilt by telling himself that if ever Anna finally forgave him for whatever it was she was specifically angry about, everything would be fine. Dean would probably forget he existed once his bike was finished and Castiel paid him, whereas Anna would still (probably) be his oldest friend. 

 

\--

 

For the first time in days, he was in for the night, smoking next to his open living room window, and really only because the weather had decided to turn sour. The clouds had rolled in around lunchtime while he had been at work, and by the time he was clocking out with Gabe, Inias, and the others, they had grown into dark, threatening, masses. It wasn’t meant to get dark for hours, but it already looked as though the sun had set. By the time Inias dropped him off, the clouds had let go, and although he had to run to make it inside, he still ended up drenched. 

After he had peeled off his work shirt and made dinner for himself (which consisted of baked beans and leftover cornbread that had stretched the limits of his ability when he made it), he sat in the window, and debated about going next door to borrow the phone and call Anna. At lunch, he had half-convinced himself that he could tell her about his feelings toward Dean, and why exactly it was that he wanted to keep them separate. Maybe he’s even work up enough nerve to tell her about his feelings toward one day leaving The Garrison. On the other hand, a simple apology on his part would probably be enough to soften her, despite the fact that he had meant what he said. He was tired of her avoidance.

Of course, there was the chance she wouldn’t be home, and with the rain, there would probably be static in the line, and she wouldn’t want to come out in the weather to come over so they could talk. 

He sighed and eventually gave up smoking in favor of sketching at the desk in his room. It was a terrible idea. He had done very well until now not to even consider drawing Dean. There wasn’t one sketch of him in his sketchbook, despite the fact that there were countless other faces in it, including Sam’s. But he hadn’t seen him in over a week, and Sam’s question about whether or not he could draw him was floating around in his head still. Considering all he had forfeited in his attempt to appease Anna and The Garrison, he thought he deserved to try. 

The image of him in the sun the day they had gone swimming had fixed itself in his mind almost as soon as it had registered, and that was where he started. He drew everything he could remember about him, from the strong line of his jaw, to his delicate nose and lashes, to the freckles that had stood out on his face when the sun had fallen on him. To Castiel, he had appeared as one of those half-gods his teachers had gone on about in history, flawed and yet, endlessly beautiful. He softened a line in Dean’s neck with his thumb, and his already elevated heart rate spiked instantly when his head snapped up at the sound of a sudden knock at the door. 

It was too late and too rainy for any decent visitors, and he left his work on the desk to go investigate. It could have been one of the guys, but that was unlikely, which really just left his enemies. It wasn’t as though he gave out his address on the regular, but it wouldn’t be hard to find him if you looked, and he grabbed a switchblade from the counter where he had emptied his pockets, flipping it out, and keeping it just out of sight as he opened the door. 

“Sam, Dean,” was his surprised, slightly horrified response to what he found when he opened it. They were certainly the last two people he had expected to turn up on his doorstep, and they were both soaked through to the bone. 

“Hey, Cas. Sorry it’s so late.” Sam’s voice sounded small, and he looked impossibly young in that moment, his hair plastered to his face, and his eyes not quite meeting Castiel’s. Dean’s arm was slung across his shoulder, and it was then that Castiel realized he wasn’t quite supporting his own weight, that Dean’s face wasn’t quite as pristine as the one he had just drawn. 

His stomach dropped, and he opened the door wider for the two of them to come inside. “You’re soaked,” he managed as Sam and Dean wobbled toward his sofa, and he closed his blade and set it back on the bar again. 

“No kidding,” Dean’s voice was rough as Sam settled him onto the sofa, and Castiel locked the door before he approached them again. 

Castiel knew better than to ask what happened. He’d been in enough trouble to know better than that. Instead, he offered them warm milk and dry clothes, which Dean refused and Sam accepted quietly. 

Dean didn’t say much, just sat there, while Sam finished his milk and then went to change into a shirt and boxers that Castiel had offered him. Castiel had brought his first aid kit from the bathroom and took Sam’s place next to Dean while he changed. 

“You won’t change. Are you going to let me clean you up?” Castiel desperately wanted to smoke; seeing Sam look so helpless and Dean so banged up had him bent entirely out of shape. “If that blood dries too much, you’re going to have a bad time scrubbing it off.” 

Dean’s eyes met his and he, ever so slowly, pushed himself forward so there were only a few inches between them, “Is it okay if we stay here tonight?” He looked tired, his split lip and shiner only adding to the overall sense of exhaustion he radiated. His eyes flicked upwards, “You okay, Sammy?”

Castiel turned to look at Sam, who had his wet clothes in his arms, and looked a little like he could cry. He set the first aid kit aside for the moment and got up to take the clothes from him.  
“Sam, why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll take care of these. And Dean. Don’t worry. The bed’s already made.” 

Sam looked at Dean and his shoulders sagged. Whether it was from relief or exhaustion, Castiel didn’t know. “Thanks, Cas.” He followed up with a rather unexpected hug, which took Castiel a moment to reciprocate. It was one armed on his end, as he didn’t want Sam’s wet clothes to make him wet again, but Sam’s long arms squeezed him tight, and when he finally pulled away, it was clear he had been fighting off tears. He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes on one arm.

Castiel’s heart cracked just a little. 

“Night, Dean. Let him help, will you?” 

“Yeah, okay, Sammy. Go get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.” 

Sam shuffled into the other room, and Castiel hung his clothes over the backs of his bar stools before crossing back to sit next to Dean again. 

He opened the first aid kit, and pulled out a cotton swab and a little bottle of iodine. He had used the kit on more than one occasion to fix himself up, and he was well versed in what needed to be done right now. At least it gave his hands something to do. 

“I don’t know what happened,” he said carefully, “But if you and Sam need to stay here, it’s not a problem. There isn’t much space, but you’re welcome here.” He cleaned the blood from Dean’s lip and chin. “And if I can help, I will.” 

“Our old man,” Dean started, recoiling a little when Castiel dabbed the cut on his lip, “...is a real son of a bitch sometimes.” 

Castiel didn’t say anything, just tossed the used cotton swab aside and picked up a new one. Dean had a cut on his eyebrow as well as a few scrapes along his cheek. Castiel recognized injuries like that. Knew the kind of blows that caused them. 

“At least when he drinks. Which is always. Sammy,” he swallowed thickly, “Sometimes they don’t see eye to eye, and it can get out of hand, you know. And Sam’s getting older, but he’s still just a kid. But dad-” Dean’s voice broke on the word, and he cleared his throat as Castiel carried on cleaning him up. “He doesn’t always get that. Especially not when he’s been drinking. So, I have to get involved, because that’s my job, you know? I’m supposed to look after him. I always have. He’s my kid brother. I’d do anything for him.” 

Castiel finished cleaning the scrapes along Dean’s cheek, and smoothed a bandage over the cut on his brow. Dean wasn’t exactly being transparent, but he had a pretty good idea about what had gone on before they had turned up at his apartment. He was nearly in tears, and it was evident to Castiel that physical pain wasn’t the cause. 

“Neither of you deserve that, Dean.” He let his hand fall to his cheek in an attempt to comfort him, and much to his surprise, Dean reached up and held it there. He had half expected him to pull away, shoo him off, but it didn’t happen, and for once Castiel felt like maybe he had said the right thing.

He hadn’t known Sam and Dean for that long, but he knew that was true. Even as hot and cold as Dean could run, it was clear enough that his intentions were usually good. And Sam was just the same—both of them were good—a far cry from where Castiel saw himself. That they had come to him when they needed help was mystifying. 

“You never came by.” Dean’s voice was rough and barely above a whisper. He still held Castiel’s hand against his cheek, and his eyes, which had been closed since Castiel had put it there, opened and met his. 

It was a jarring shift in subject. Castiel felt his breath hitch, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he had been caught out or because Dean was looking at him so intently. He hadn’t expected Dean to notice, let alone care enough to ask why, that he hadn’t come by. “I… things have been… less than swell,” he admitted. “It’s not that I didn’t want to.” There wasn’t a lot of space between them now, and Castiel could almost count Dean’s eyelashes. Even bleeding and bruised, he was so beautiful it made him ache. He needed to put some space between them before he risked making a bad decision. 

He shifted his hand in Dean’s grasp, a small movement to let him know that this needed to end. He needed to smoke, and was about to say as much, to let Dean know that he’d set him up to sleep on the sofa once he had smoked and gotten him something dry to sleep in. He would have said all of that to him, and then opened the window to smoke again if Dean’s mouth hadn’t found his way to his in the time it took him to decide that was what he was going to do. 

Initially, Castiel froze. Dean’s mouth was soft against his, and he almost couldn’t believe that it was happening. It felt like a dream. He had imagined it countless times, fantasized how this moment might go, and it had never been like this. Gentle. Uncertain. Wanting. Seconds went by, Dean didn’t immediately pull away, and Castiel gave in just the slightest bit. 

Dean’s hand finally moved from where it was on top of Castiel’s to rest against his neck, and when Castiel moved to deepen the kiss, his desire coming over him in a wave, Dean winced ever so slightly. It was only a small movement, but it was enough. Castiel pulled away, afraid he had hurt him, afraid Dean was going to reject him because he had shown how much, even for the smallest moment, he wanted him. 

“Cas, I-” 

Castiel had gotten up, snatched up his Luckies from the window sill, and was doing his best to light one with a less than steady hand. He couldn’t get it to catch, and when he looked up again, Dean had taken the lighter from him, and lit the cigarette for him. 

“These things are going to kill you, you know,” Dean said softly as he handed the lighter back to him.

Castiel was terrified. There were few things in life that scared him, but he immediately counted this among them. He moved away from Dean again, smoke wafting around the apartment, in a way he generally tried to avoid because Anna complained. Anna. Didn’t Dean have a thing for her? What about ‘Mary?’ He began to clean up the first aid kit, and in the process, made the fiercest effort to bury any feelings Dean’s little stunt had caused to flare up inside of him. 

“I’ll grab you something to change into. You can have the couch,” he spoke around his cigarette, unwilling to put it down just to talk. “There’s a bag of peas in the top of the refrigerator- for your eye,” he clarified. He disappeared into his bedroom and reappeared moments later with his spare pajamas and a blanket for Dean. 

“Cas, can we talk about this?” Dean sounded weary as he took the items from him. 

Castiel moved back toward the window and tapped ash into the tray there. He disappeared into his room again, and came out with his Garrison jacket and boots on. “I’ve gotta go out for a while.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and exhaled the last of his cigarette. They definitely didn’t need to talk about this. Not right now when all of him felt like a livewire. They didn’t need to talk about this ever. So what if Dean had kissed him? He’d just been beaten by his father—it was traumatic—people did things without thinking when they were traumatized. He didn’t want to deal with whatever it was that would happen when Dean finally came to his senses again, so if they pretended it never happened, then they could go on like they had been. It would all settle and be fine. 

“Cas, it’s pouring,” Dean said. “Just…” 

“I’ll be back by morning,” Castiel told him. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate.” 

Dean looked like he wanted to say something, to continue his thought, or come up with a reason they should sit and talk about whatever it was that had just happened between them, but Castiel grabbed his cigarettes and was gone before he had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a while, and honestly, the next few chapters will probably take me a while, but they will come, so don't give up on me. I suffered an intense personal tragedy at the beginning of this month (while I was about halfway through writing this chapter) and I'm still reeling from the extremely unexpected death of my mother. Due to her death, I'm dealing with a lot of shifts in lifestyle and it's really overwhelming. I picked up working on this again to keep my mind occupied and help me move forward a little each day, because after it happened, I wasn't sure what else I could do. So, thanks for reading this fic so far, and even if it takes me a little longer than anticipated, I promise I'll finish it. Hopefully, the longer chapter this time makes up for the wait a little.


	5. I Walk the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean stay with Cas for a while.

When Castiel returned to his apartment, less than dry, and slightly grouchy, he thought the Winchesters had gone. There was no sign of Dean’s truck out front, and there weren’t any lights on in the apartment when he went in. He had gone to stay with Inias, who he knew would ask him questions, but wouldn’t be bothered that he didn’t give him answers. He also wouldn’t feel inclined to mention it later. Anna or Gabe would have both asked too many questions and then demanded answers, and would have no trouble bringing it up until all of his secrets came pouring out of him. Inias was his only real option.

Even with Inias’s lack of prodding, Castiel hadn’t slept well there, and he had walked home at mid-morning while the air had still been heavy, and drizzling rain still misted around him. The sun would eventually burn it all away, but for the time being, it was, decidedly, grey out.

His night had been spent trying to avoid the memory of having had Dean’s lips against his, while also kicking himself for having given in at all, even for a moment. Would it really have been so difficult to have just pulled away? He might have said something stupid, and Dean might have laughed, and his heart definitely would have skipped its way to the moon, but things would be okay. They could continue to be… friends. Or whatever it was they were supposed to be to one another. Ones that didn’t kiss each other, even when it seemed like doing so would be the nicest thing in the world. Besides that, he had been fairly certain that Dean had just been lonely, or at the very least, upset at the time—it hadn’t meant anything to him. Letting himself slide for that fraction of a second was probably enough for Dean to know that it hadn’t been quite as meaningless for him. 

Castiel stepped out of his boots, and tossed his jacket over the arm of the sofa before he emptied his pockets and headed for his room. He would sleep the rest of the day away, and maybe when he got up, the whole thing would feel like more of a slightly unsettling dream than a severe mistake he had made. Maybe he’d go to the garage when he got up and check that Sam and Dean were all right. 

He pulled his shirt over his head as he walked through the door of his room, and nearly stumbled back out of it again when he found Dean sleeping in his bed. Castiel bit his tongue to keep from swearing out loud and went to peek around the rest of the apartment again in case he had missed Sam somewhere. He hadn’t. Dean was the only one there. 

He was on top of the covers like some sort of heathen—the bed was still made, like no one had slept in it the night before—and Castiel could see in the low light from the window, that bruises had settled in deep shades over his face and torso. Dean was shirtless, and lay on his back, probably to keep pressure off of his injuries. His father had done a number on him. Castiel ran a hand over his own face and couldn’t help laughing silently to himself. He had spent months daydreaming Dean Winchester into all sorts of compromising situations, doing his best not to act on any of his own desires in the last few weeks because he knew where they’d land him, if not in prison. And now, in less than 24 hours, it seemed like he was being mercilessly beaten over the head with them. It was as funny as it wasn’t. Which was thoroughly. What he had done to turn Fate against him so fully, he’d never know. 

Castiel recovered himself, and glanced at his desk while he debated how terrible of an idea it would be to climb into bed next to Dean rather than going back out to sleep on the couch. He was actually exhausted, and If he stayed close to the wall and lay on his side, maybe Dean wouldn’t even notice he was there. A moment later, his eyes fell to his sketchbook and he realized he’d left it out the night before. His fear response was almost immediate, and he hoped neither Winchester had seen it before they had fallen asleep. The last thing he needed was for Dean to realize just how much attention he paid to him. He immediately moved to put it away. Probably too immediately, because he failed to miss the floorboard that always creaked when it was wet out. He froze for a moment, listened for Dean’s breathing to change, and when he didn’t hear it, moved to tuck it between the books on the shelf he had nailed above his desk. He sighed softly as it slotted back in place. 

“You’re really good. I know I asked before, but have you really never considered doing something with that? Could be the next Monet.” Dean’s voice was either sleep or pain-rough—he couldn’t really tell—and Castiel, God help him, liked the sound of it. His luck was simply abysmal.

Castiel turned and watched as Dean propped himself against his headboard, every other movement accompanied by a wince. When he got comfortable, Dean let out a breath, and tilted his head a little to look at him. Castiel could see the lash of purple that ran alongside his nose and curved around his eye. It made him want to hit something. Or someone. 

“Monet did landscapes. And painted. Where’s Sam?” Castiel asked. His hands had clenched into fists, and he was doing his best to shake off the part of him that wanted to find the Winchester patriarch and beat him within an inch of his life. He could round up a few Garrisoners to help him out—if he asked, they’d do it, no questions.

Dean sighed again, but this time he was exasperated rather than relieved, “We argued. He went to see a friend for a while.”

Castiel’s brows drew down, “Argued? What about?” He knew the two of them seemed not always to be on the same page, but given the way Dean looked now, and how drained Sam had seemed the night before, he wouldn’t have expected him to just up and leave. As often as Sam complained about Dean’s over-protective tendencies, Castiel got the feeling Sam would defend his brother to the grave. 

“You’re good at changing the subject, you know. And, I dunno, things. We just argue sometimes. When did you do those sketches?” 

“I could say the same of you,” Castiel told him pointedly. “There are a lot of sketches in there. All done at various times. You told him to go, didn’t you? Why?” He didn’t want to talk about the sketches, and he most definitely didn’t want to talk about the kiss, so a subject change was needed. 

Dean shifted a little on the bed and winced again, “Because I didn’t want him worrying over me. And if dad decides he wants to teach me another lesson, I don’t want him around. His friend lives in a nice place, and they’ll look out for him for a couple of days until things cool off. Besides, there’s barely enough room in here for you, let alone the both of us.” Slowly, he shifted again and swung his legs off the side of the bed. “I can stay at the shop until this blows over, and then we’ll go home, and everything’ll be fine. It’s not a big deal.” 

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Castiel told him firmly. “And if Sam wants to stay here, I’ll make room for him too. It’s no trouble.” He didn’t have a lot of space, but he’d had Anna and the others stay over before, and made it work. And it wasn’t as though he’d have to worry about any of them popping in unexpectedly—Anna still wasn’t talking to him. 

“It’s probably safer for you here anyway. I’m assuming you haven’t told him where I live? He’s welcome to try and harm either of you in front of me.” Castiel reached up like he was going to pull a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, agitated by their conversation, and promptly realized that not only had he emptied his pockets in the living room, but that he had removed his shirt when he had come into his room, and still remained shirtless. He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand through his already disheveled hair as he moved to open the little dresser he had at the foot of his bed. 

“He’s not all bad,” Dean said quietly. “He enlisted, and when he came back, mom was sick, and… things were just different after that.” 

Castiel pulled a clean shirt over his head and leaned against the dresser as he turned to face Dean again. “A lot of guys enlisted, and a lot of them came back different. A lot of them didn’t come back at all. Not all of them beat the people they’re supposed to care about for no reason. Look at you. I don’t know what kinds of demons he’s dealing with, but everyone has their own, Dean. It’s no excuse. There’s nothing you or Sam could have said or done to deserve that.”

Dean was quiet, but in the time it had taken Castiel to say all of that, he had gotten to his feet and moved into Castiel’s space. He was now effectively hemmed in by the wall, the dresser, and Dean’s body, and he had no idea why he hadn’t just turned around and gone right back out when he realized Dean was still there to begin with. Even dealing with Anna’s cold shoulder would be less stressful than this. 

“How can you say that? Don’t you get into fights in your spare time?” It didn’t sound like an insult. He sounded defeated. “You don’t even know what happened. Maybe I hit him first,” Dean said. His voice was delicate, like it could break if he said too much. 

It made Castiel’s chest ache, and he searched Dean’s face for some kind of indication as to whether he was going to have some sort of breakdown or go back to being his usual closed-off self. He wouldn’t have minded the latter; it would make him feel less like he had spent the last twenty-four hours in some kind of fever-dream. 

“I know enough,” Castiel told him. “And I’ve been getting to know you and Sam. Do you think anything is broken? Should I take you to the clinic?” 

Dean shook his head a little in response. They were close enough now that Dean dropped his head onto Castiel’s shoulder—he had slowly been inching his way nearer to Castiel, like he was approaching a feral cat—and then wrapped his arms loosely around his middle. 

It made Castiel’s hair stand on end, and he, rather awkwardly, returned the gesture. He could feel Dean’s breath against his neck, uneven and warm, and he thought Dean might start to cry. He had looked near it before.

“You can stay as long as you need,” Castiel said, uncertain as to where he was supposed to go from here. “I...won't let anything happen to the two of you. You’re safe with me.” 

A shudder ran through Dean, and Castiel squeezed him briefly to let him know he wasn't going to have to face this sort of thing alone if he didn't want to. Maybe Dean had started as his mechanic, but the more time he spent with the Winchesters, the more he found himself wanting to maintain their relationship, even once Dean was done with his bike.

Dean shifted after a few moments, and Castiel thought he had collected himself and was going to pull away. He was prepared to offer him an aspirin and the peas for his eye again when he did. 

“Can I kiss you again?”

Castiel froze. Dean's voice was in his ear, soft and unsure. He thought they had done well avoiding the topic, that maybe Dean had been willing to forget it had happened at all, and they could carry on the way they had been. His heart was practically beating out of his chest, and he wondered whether Dean could hear it from where he was. 

“Dean, I don't think-”

“I won't tell anyone,” he said almost desperately. “I just need… please.” Dean's voice sounded raw now, like it had been pulled across the pavement the way his body probably had been. He had pulled away a little, but not enough that Castiel could look him in the eyes, so he couldn't read the emotions there. 

He knew it was a terrible, frightening idea. He had been prepared to reject the request, if for no other reason than to keep a short leash on his own desires. He might run with hoods, but he didn’t consider himself particularly reckless. Self-preservation, or at least the preservation of the Garrison, was usually at the fore with any action he made. But even before he had gotten to know Dean at all, he had known he would be weak to any request he made of him, and so he nodded just once. He thought this was what it would feel like walking himself and his gang into an inferno. 

After this they could go back to not talking about it. Dean could go back to fixing his bike, and he could go back to wanting him, or maybe not. Maybe this would cure him. He’d be over Dean entirely once his curiosity about what it would be like to have him was sated. That had been the plan from the beginning, hadn’t it? He’d get so close, he wouldn’t want him anymore. 

Dean's movements after that felt like something out of a dream. 

He breathed out against Castiel's skin, and then tilted his head up until their mouths met, a soft brush of lips at first, followed by a little more pressure. Castiel was determined not to let himself fall into the trap of getting ahead of himself and letting Dean's kiss sweep over him again, so he tried not respond much. He moved his mouth enough to make the kiss passable, but any more than that, and he wasn't sure he'd have the self-control he'd need in order to stop. Besides, he didn't want to hurt him, and regardless as to whether Dean wanted to kiss him or not, the bruises and cuts on his face and lip wouldn't make it comfortable.

Dean brought himself closer, and the little space that had been between their bodies was gone now. His hands had moved upward, along Castiel’s back. Castiel was aware of the edge of the dresser pressing into his lower back, and he moved one of his hands back to steady himself, while the other rested helplessly at Dean's waist. He wasn’t sure when he had begun to tremble, but he could feel it happening, a mild tremor that seemed to have made its way through his entire body. 

He’d kept his eyes open in hopes of maintaining some semblance of his self-control (though maybe the trembling had ruined that at this point), but Dean’s eyes were closed, which is probably why it was so easy for him to deepen their kiss. His hands moved into Castiel’s hair, and it sent electric right down his spine, and into places it really ought not to go if he had any chance of maintaining his dignity. 

Castiel weakened. He pulled Dean a little closer—just the slightest movement of the hand at Dean’s waist—and let his eyes fall shut. He was only human. Anyone who had been served Dean Winchester on a silver platter would have had a difficult time resisting. For five perfect seconds he let himself indulge. Dean’s fingers tugged gently at his hair, pulled their bodies more firmly together, and his own fingers splayed against the skin of Dean’s still-bare lower back. Like this, he could almost fool himself into thinking that Dean needed him. Their mouths fit together well, like Dean’s was made for his. Like he couldn’t imagine ever kissing anyone else again. Everything was Dean. 

And then breathing was a thing that they had to do, and it ended. Or maybe he got enough oxygen to his brain to remember why this was such a bad idea. Every nerve in his body was throwing sparks. A few moments more and he would have had absolutely no chance of hiding just how much he had wanted to kiss Dean since the day he laid eyes on him. Dean kissed the corner of his mouth, and probably would have continued kissing him if he hadn’t moved the hand that had been on Dean’s waist between their bodies. 

“I should go pick up Sam,” Castiel said, his voice huskier than he would have liked. He looked just about everywhere except for Dean, because if he looked at him right then, he was sure he would have fallen right into those green eyes of his and never climbed out again. It was better this way. Dean had needed to be comforted, and he had done that. He had to draw the line somewhere, because there was no telling how far Dean would let things go in order to make himself feel better. Castiel had dealt with enough broken people to know that. And if Sam was around, then there would be no chance that this would happen again. Which was both a relief and a disappointment. 

“Give me the address, and I’ll walk over. I’d feel better if you were both here.” He slid out from between Dean and the dresser. He’d need the walk just to burn off the excess energy he was feeling now. Even the trembling hadn’t quite stopped. He could still taste Dean on his lips, could practically feel him there, and he went to dig through his bedside drawer for a spare pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

“Cas,” Dean sounded worn out. 

Castiel emerged victorious, though, there were only about three left in the pack, and his extra lighter was nowhere to be found, which made him frown a little. 

“Cas, look at me, will you? Just for a second, please.”

Castiel held a cigarette loosely between his lips as he tossed the rest of the pack back in the drawer. Dean had him wrapped around his finger, and he had no idea. He glanced over at him, and something in his heart twisted and squeezed. 

Dean put the heel of his hand against his good eye and sighed. He looked so tired, and Castiel almost changed his mind. It would have been easy to pull Dean into bed and hold him until he fell asleep. He doubted he would protest. Despite how hard he could sometimes be to read, Castiel didn’t think Dean was in the right frame of mind to reject him. Which was exactly why he had decided to end things for him. 

“Just keep the door locked while I’m gone,” Castiel told him. “And if anyone knocks, don’t answer it. I’m the only one with a key.” He didn’t ordinarily lock his door, which was one of the reasons it was so easy for Anna to pop in unannounced. If it was locked, it usually meant he was out of town, and didn’t want anyone in or out anyway, which was rare. 

Dean dropped his hand, “Look, just now, I wasn’t… I just wanted-”

“It’s okay, Dean. It’s… we shouldn’t. I don’t think it’s a good idea from now on, but it was fine. Just write that address down for me.” Whatever it was that Dean was trying to say, he didn’t need to hear it. Buyers’ remorse or not, the last thing he needed right then was to hear that it had been a mistake. Because, of course, it had been. There was Mary. And Dean and he were probably friends. If nothing else, they had a working business relationship when it came to his bike, and he didn’t need to mess that up either. But it had felt good. And even if it had been brief, or if he was just a warm body for Dean to cling to, then at least for now, he could have that.

Dean sighed again, “Yeah. Yeah, Cas. Okay.”

 

\--

 

The Winchesters stayed with him for three days, during which time Castiel learned that Dean’s truck had been left at the garage in case their dad decided he wanted to take the time to look for them. Sam had driven them there after the fight that night, and they had walked the mile and a half from there to Castiel’s apartment, which explained why they had turned up drenched.

He also spent a lot of that time making sure he and Dean were never alone together, which meant he spent a lot of time with either Sam and Dean, or just Sam. He didn’t like leaving them alone for too long, and though he felt they were fairly secure at his home, he didn’t want to be gone if anything bad did happen. 

“It doesn’t happen all the time,” Sam told him. They had climbed out onto the fire escape through the living room window to hang some laundry. Sam sat in the open window and handed him clothes out of the laundry basket, while Castiel smoked and hung them. 

“Dean said something similar. Funny, having to say he does it at all.” 

Sam looked a little troubled as he handed him one of the shirts Dean had worn. Castiel had been adamant about them staying away from home while they were staying with him, and so they had more or less all been rotating through what clothing he owned. 

Dean, who was inside, had the radio on, and was busy cooking dinner as a favor for letting them stay for the few days. He said he felt better, but Castiel hadn’t been so sure. His bruises had started to change color, but it had only been a few days, and was concerned about Dean over-exerting himself. Castiel had gone with them to the store because Dean insisted he had very little worth cooking. He had spent the time there outside, smoking like a chimney, half concerned they would run into their father, and half concerned he would run into someone he knew. 

He had pretty much avoided his friends entirely while the Winchesters were staying with him, for no other reason than he hadn’t felt especially inclined to be around them. It wasn’t that he didn’t miss them—more that he had been careful until now to keep his time with the Garrison from overlapping with his time with the Winchesters, and it just seemed best to keep it that way. He had essentially disappeared from whatever radar they had him on. He remembered Gabriel’s suggestion that he bring anyone he was seeing around, but he also remembered Anna’s cold shoulder that still hadn’t quite let up. He still hadn’t seen her either. He showed up at work, but he usually arrived before the others since he had chosen to walk to avoid being stuck in the car with them, and left earlier in order to make it to work on time. He either worked through lunch or took it after they did. He wasn’t really surprised Anna still hadn’t spoken to him—she could be incredibly stubborn when she set her mind to it, and he hadn’t really done anything to ease tensions between them. He promised himself he would fix things once he was sure that Sam and Dean could go back home and be all right. 

“Dean thinks he has to look out for me all the time. So when Dad gets outta hand, he isn’t careful about getting in his way.” Sam handed him another piece of clothing.

“Doesn’t he?” Castiel took the shirt from Sam, who looked like Castiel had just slapped him for no reason. Castiel sighed, and reached over to put his cigarette out in the ashtray he had brought out with him. Of course he had said the wrong thing. Didn’t he usually? 

“Look, maybe…” he glanced at the sky as he searched for a better way to explain himself. “...Maybe you’re old enough to take care of yourself, but you and I both saw those bruises your old man left on Dean. Do you really think you could take those kinds of hits and be up making dinner a few days later?”

“I can fight,” Sam protested. “Dean and Bobby-”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Sam.” Castiel finished hanging the laundry and sat on the fire escape railing. A strong breeze probably could have blown him over the edge, but he had been doing it for as long as he could remember, and wasn’t the least concerned. “I’ve got no doubt Dean wouldn’t let you out of his sight without teaching you how to defend yourself. But maybe you should consider why he’s willing to step between you and your dad in the first place.” 

Castiel had no first-hand experience when it came to what Sam and Dean were dealing with. His father had disappeared before he had the chance to beat up on him. What memories he did have of him were vaguely happy, but they were few. At the most, some of the Garrisoners had similar trouble with their families, and they dealt with those issues as they came. Sometimes it required setting one of them up to live with some of the others—Castiel had had his share of temporary tenants—sometimes it required a more direct show of force. Each situation was different, and Castiel was sure he didn’t have all the facts when it came to the Winchesters, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know better than to let some guy beat his kids for no good reason. Dean might have learned to take the physical blows his father dealt him, but after the other night, Castiel wasn’t so sure he had learned to take them where it counted. Or if he had, they were beginning to wear on him.

“I was looking for a job,” Sam said softly, his eyes on his knees. “That day those guys were giving me a hard time. That’s why I left school without waiting for Dean to pick me up.” 

It was reasonable. A lot of kids Sam’s age had jobs. Castiel was barely fifteen when his grandmother died and he’d had to start working at the factory. When he didn’t say anything, Sam looked up at him again. He seemed almost frustrated. 

“I want to finish school, and I want to go to college. And Dean wants me to be able to do that too. But he won’t let me help. He has this ridiculous idea that-” 

“Soup’s on!” Dean stuck his head through the open window, and grinned at them both. “What’s the matter, Sammy? Cas got your knickers in a twist?”

As much as he liked seeing that smile, it was clear to Castiel that Dean had popped in at the exact wrong moment. He made a mental note to try talking to Sam about it again later. He didn’t think he was very good at it, but given how Sam looked, Castiel doubted he had anyone outside of Dean to talk to about how he was feeling.

Sam scowled and elbowed his way past Dean, back through the window. Dean laughed and swatted him with the towel he had over his shoulder. “You should really work on not being such a wet blanket, Sammy,” he called after him. “One day the wind’ll change and your face is gonna be stuck like that.” 

Castiel didn’t move, and even though Dean’s face was still bruised and a little scraped, he couldn’t help thinking he was still the best looking thing for miles. They really hadn’t been alone since he had let Dean kiss him three mornings ago, and there was a slight awkwardness between them now as they looked at each other from across the fire escape. 

Castiel wanted to kiss him again. It was traitorous thought to have when he had been so careful to keep away from thoughts like that, but there it was. Dean was looking right at him, and he was looking right back, and between them was the unspoken knowledge that they had crossed a line somewhere, even if Castiel was determined to pretend that they hadn’t. 

Dean broke eye contact first—it seemed like that was usually the case—his eyes flickering down so that the sun caught the gold in his lashes and the freckles on his nose. “You always try and fall to your death doing the laundry?” he asked. 

He glanced back up at Castiel, who hadn’t stopped looking at him.

“I like to think I’d sprout wings,” Castiel told him dryly as he hopped down from the railing. He was wearing a shirt with the sleeves cut off, and the wind caught it just long enough to make him feel like he might really take off if he tried. He approached the window and rested his hands on it above Dean's head. 

“That why you painted them on your bike? You’re hoping you’ll grow a pair of your own one day?”

“Something like that,” Castiel told him. Dean wasn't moving out of his way, and so they were now, effectively, gazing into one another's eyes, barely a foot between them. Castiel thought that maybe he should have reconsidered getting down before Dean had gotten out of his way. He had a bad habit of taking up entry spaces when Castiel needed to get by him. 

If he leaned in, kissing Dean again would have been as easy as breathing. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought Dean was looking at him like he wanted to be kissed again. Like he was daring him to try it. He had no idea how a guy with bruises all over still managed to look seductive, but there he was, half a grin and lashes for days. It made Castiel's stomach flip. 

He swallowed, cleared his throat, and furrowed his brow in an attempt not to reach for another cigarette. “Speaking of my bike, any idea when you might be finished with it?”

Finally, Dean moved back from the window, and Castiel breathed a quiet sigh of relief. 

“Once I get back to the shop? Maybe two or three days. I’ll get you taken care of. Promise.” 

Castiel climbed back through the window, and then turned to grab the laundry basket. He ignored Dean’s use of his favorite phrase, because he’d get himself in trouble if he let himself think about it too long. 

“Really?” He turned back to Dean, genuinely excited by the prospect, and was a little disappointed to find that Dean didn’t seem as thrilled as he was. 

“Are we gonna eat sometime this century?” Sam came out of the bathroom, apparently having spent the time he and Dean were playing Will he, Won’t he washing up for dinner.

Dean tossed his hand towel at Sam, who caught it and smirked, as they made their way to the kitchen. 

Castiel had decided he liked having them there. The circumstances left something to be desired, but even with his determination to avoid being alone with Dean for any length of time, having them stay with him made him feel less like his apartment was the resting point he used between work and the Garrison. Even as much as he loved Anna and wouldn’t have traded her for anything, he had never quite had that feeling when she had been over. It was more like the apartment became an extension of his relationship to her or the Garrison, depending on her reason for showing up. He would never have admitted it aloud, but the Winchesters made it feel fuller than it had, even when he’d had several of the guys over at once.

Dean had apparently borrowed a chair from a neighbor at some point, because when he got to the kitchen, there was a chair that was not his own at his table, which was small and had only two chairs to begin with. He had inherited it from his grandmother, and he couldn’t remember it ever having had more than two. 

“Dinner is served,” Dean announced as Sam took a seat at one end of the table in one of the chairs that matched. “We’ve got meat pie for a main course, and apple pie for dessert. Figured if I was making pie, I might as well keep with the theme.” He carried the meat pie over to the table, where he carefully placed a slice on each of their plates.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Sam had turned in his seat and jerked his head in the direction of the other matching chair for Castiel to take a seat. “Dean just loves pie. Doesn’t matter what kind. I banned him from making anything pie related more than three times a month. Otherwise, he’d make it all the time, and I’d turn into a pie myself. But, I guess maybe he found a loophole since we’re here and all.” Sam rolled his eyes, and Castiel moved to take his seat. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat down and had an actual meal, let alone one that also involved eating with other people. Usually it was canned soup or warmed up leftovers he had been given by a neighbor. 

“Don’t listen to Sammy. He’s the only kid in town that never had to be told to eat his vegetables. Makes him a weirdo by default, and voids any anti-pie-related opinions he may have.” Dean set the remaining portion of the meat pie on the counter, and then sat down in the odd chair. 

It was a little cramped, and he could feel Dean’s leg pressing against his for lack of space, but it worked, and Castiel kind of liked it. 

“It smells good,” he admitted as he picked up his fork. It looked good too. The crust was golden brown and flaky. And it was stuffed to the brim with beef and vegetables. It was like an entire meal condensed into one convenient slice. They had left the windows open, because it was just too hot in the apartment otherwise, particularly while Dean had had the kitchen in full use, and Castiel was certain that anyone else who also had their windows open would be jealous just from the smell. 

He took a bite and could feel Dean’s eyes on him.

“Well?” Dean asked. Sam seemed to be waiting on his response too, his fork poised over his own plate. 

Castiel chewed slowly, partially because he really was curious about the flavor, and partially because he liked the idea of making Dean wait. “It’s… hearty,” he said eventually. And when Dean’s face dropped just a little, like that wasn’t what he wanted him to say, Castiel cut another piece with his fork. “I like it,” he smiled over at Dean, who reached over and ruffled his hair in much the same way he had watched him do to Sam when he said something particularly goofy. 

He hadn’t even bothered to comb the sides back in the last few days, so it just added to the natural wildness of his look. The brothers started on their own food, and before long, they were eating and talking like usual. Chatting with Sam, smiling at Dean’s dumb jokes, and sharing a meal with them grew a fond, warm, feeling in Castiel’s chest, one that he thought he wanted to hold onto for as long as he could manage.

Once they’d finished dinner and had dessert, Sam settled on the sofa to read, while Castiel bumped elbows with Dean in his tiny kitchen in order to help clean up. Between the open floor plan and the fact that dinner had eased some of the anxiety he had felt about his interactions with Dean since their kiss(es), he didn’t mind the closeness. 

“Me and Sammy’ll be out of your hair first thing,” Dean said as he deposited dishes in the sink to wash. 

“There’s no rush,” Castiel told him. He had finished putting the leftovers away and was leaned against the kitchen counter. “I’d rather you two stick around here than go back and end up worse off than before.” 

Dean shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Nah, we’ll be alright. ‘Sides, I need to get back to the shop and fix your bike, and probably a mess of other stuff. I had a carburetor I was supposed to be rebuilding too. We’ll go there, and then go home after that.” He began running water to fill one side of the sink. “I really appreciate you letting us stay though. We don’t usually...I mean, there just aren’t a lot of people we can count on like that.” He cleared his throat but didn’t look at Castiel directly. 

Castiel was looking at Dean though. There were things, almost always, that Dean didn’t let himself say, and Castiel couldn’t keep himself from searching Dean for whatever it was he felt like he needed to keep bottled up at times like this. Asking to kiss him was probably the closest Dean had ever come to saying what was on his mind, and even then Castiel was fairly certain that the kiss hadn’t been what he really meant to ask for. Maybe it was just the closest thing he had been able to come up with at the time. 

“I don’t think he likes me much, but seems like that Bobby guy cares about you two,” Castiel said eventually. And it must have been the right thing, because it made Dean laugh, just a little. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of being the reason Dean laughed about anything.

“It’s not like that,” Dean told him as he turned the tap off and set about washing the dishes. “Rinse and dry for me, will you?” 

Castiel moved to the other side of the sink and grabbed the tea towel that hung under the counter to toss over one shoulder. 

“What’s it like, then?” Castiel dutifully rinsed and dried the dish he was given before stacking it in the dish drain. 

“Bobby just… knows me better than he probably should,” Dean said carefully. “He’s looking out for me. And for Sam. It’s not that he doesn’t like you. It's that we do. Apart from that, he lives too far for us to go there every time we have a problem. And I already owe him more than I can ever repay. So, I’m just sayin’ it’s nice to have another friend around, okay?” 

That warm feeling in Castiel's chest bloomed again. He stood there drying dishes, perfectly content to be near Dean and know Sam was a few feet away in the next room. It was close enough to the feeling he got when he rode his bike or spent the day sketching, that it almost scared him. He didn't want to think too much about it, and he didn't have to, because right around the time he began trying to close that particular can of worms, there was a knock at the door. 

All three of them froze. It was more aggressive than a standard knock. Sam and Dean had heard Castiel tell them not to answer the door if anyone knocked, but it had always been while he was on his way to work. Castiel simply wasn't used to having people knock because his door wasn't usually locked. Even his neighbors usually just gave a quick tap and then stuck their heads in on the infrequent occasion any of them stopped by. He finished drying the plate Dean had just handed him, and then went to answer it. Sam and Dean were watching him, and while Castiel would have liked to pull his blade, if it was their father, he thought it might be more satisfying to beat him to death rather than stab him.

The knocking got more persistent—more banging than knocking, really. “Castiel, open the hell up! I know you’re in there! I know you’ve been going to work!” 

Castiel’s shoulders visibly relaxed when he heard Anna’s voice. It wasn’t ideal, and she sounded like she was in quite the mood, but at least there wouldn’t need to be any real violence. Sam and Dean were standing just behind him, and he sighed defeatedly as he went to open the door for her.

“Hello, Anna.” 

He had opened the door on her, mid-pound, and she looked a little surprised that she hadn’t had to do more. It didn’t last long; her face immediately arranged itself into the scowl that had probably been there before he answered the door. 

“We need to talk,” she said as she marched through the door, and then stopped short as she caught sight of the Winchesters, who looked a little bewildered. “What is this?” she asked slowly, her guard up.

Castiel closed the door, and wearily went to grab his cigarettes from the bar before he pulled one from the pack and set them down again. “This is Sam and Dean,” he told her pointedly. “Sam and Dean, this is Anna.” He crossed the room to sit on the window sill, where he had been practically drowning in Dean’s eyes less than two hours ago.

Sam and Dean traded looks before Dean offered her his hand, almost awkwardly, which might have been kind of adorable if Castiel hadn’t developed a headache as he considered how the next several minutes would go. 

“Cas has been, uh, helping me and my brother out this week, so we were just returning the favor. You just missed dinner,” Dean flashed a quick smile when Anna finally shook his hand and then Sam’s. “We’ve met a few times at the garage before.” Dean seemed to be trying to ease the very palpable tension in the room, but it wasn’t working. Anna was still scowling, though with a slightly puzzled tilt to her brows.

Castiel lit his cigarette. He wasn’t going to think about the fact that Dean had recognized Anna almost immediately. It would bring him too close to jealousy, and he didn’t have the energy for that and dealing with the situation at hand. 

“‘Cas’, huh?” Anna’s voice heavily implied the air quotes around the nickname, despite the fact that she had crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Did you need something?” Castiel blew smoke out of the window. He knew he was probably walking a thin line with her, but they hadn’t spoken in almost two weeks, and he was a little irritated that she had shown up on the last night Dean and Sam were planning to be in his apartment. Her timing was awful, and though he was used to dealing with her fits when she was in them, he wasn’t really in the mood for it right then. 

Anna hardened—he could see the rigidity work its way up her spine, like she might fight him right there in his living room—and he knew he had definitely said the wrong thing. 

“No one’s seen you around for days, short of you showing up for work,” she said, her teeth gritted. “They all say you’ve been dodging them every chance you get.” 

“Hey, Sam, maybe come help me get our stuff together for tomorrow?” Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulder and steered him toward the bedroom. They didn’t really have any stuff that warranted ‘getting together’, and it wasn’t lost on Castiel that he was trying to give them some sort of privacy, and he liked him that much more for it. 

“Sure,” Sam said slowly. “See you ‘round, Anna.” 

“You wanna explain yourself?” Anna asked him, crossing the room to stand closer to him. 

“Not really,” Castiel sighed. He took another drag and, once again, blew the smoke carefully out of the window. “Last I checked, you were the one freezing me out. You wanna explain that?”

Anna looked furious, and her high ponytail only added to the severe look on her face. “What am I supposed to think when you say you ‘have a life outside of the Garrison,’ huh? How am I supposed to feel, Castiel? You ditch us for weeks and then feed me that horse shit?”

Castiel raised a brow at that. Anna only ever swore when she was well and truly upset about something. He supposed it was a hold-over from her upbringing—her mother had been a debutante. 

“I do have a life outside of that,” Castiel pointed out. He stubbed his cigarette out and shifted to face her. “Or I’d like to. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

“There is when you’re nowhere to be found for days on end,” she said fiercely. “What if we needed you? You know this is something we do together. You told me you needed space, and I gave it to you, but this is beyond that. You never come out anymore, and if we were to end up in a rumble or even something less intense, we’d have to try to find you or go into it without you. You told me there wasn’t anything going on with you, but you haven’t been yourself for weeks.”

“When have I not been there when you’ve needed me?” Castiel shot back. “When have I ever given you a reason not to trust that I would be at your side when summoned? I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve spent years, Anna, following around behind you without complaint. But the second it seems like maybe I’ve found something to do with my time other than to act as your enforcer, you give me the cold shoulder.” They didn’t usually argue. He could probably count on one hand the number of times they’d had actual arguments in the last ten years. He was usually quick to defer to her unless he felt strongly about something. And as exhausted as the thought of doing it now made him, he felt this was an argument they needed to have. He couldn’t go on forever the way he had been. He didn’t want to. And if that meant upsetting her further, then it would just have to be done. 

“You need to admit that you have been avoiding us,” she told him deadly calm. “And you need to remember that you have a responsibility to the guys, and to me. We started this together. We’re supposed to be friends, and yet when I come over here tonight, like I have for years without any trouble, your door is locked. Don’t act as though that doesn’t mean anything. You’ve never locked your door. Don’t act like you haven’t been different lately. And don’t get me started on that mechanic and his kid brother being here with you behind that locked door.”

“It means I wanted my door locked. That I wanted some measure of privacy in my life. And no, you really shouldn’t start on them,” he told her coldly. Bringing Sam and Dean into their argument was the exact wrong direction for her to go, even if they were tangentially related to the bigger issue. “If I’ve been avoiding you, it’s because unlike Gabriel, who had a reasonable reaction to the idea that I might have people I want to spend time with, or things I want to do outside of hoods and hustling races, or winding up in fights, you took it as a personal attack.”

Anna’s brows lifted, and her hands moved from being folded across her chest to her hips. “If it was just me you were avoiding, you might get by with that, but you’ve shut us all out. That’s not what you signed up for when we started the Garrison,” she told him. “You can’t just quit this. You know that. They won’t let you, and neither will I.”

Castiel scrubbed his hands through his already unruly hair, “I didn’t sign up for this at all. I didn’t have a choice. This whole thing has always been your idea, and I was fine to go along with it for a while. And… all of you are important to me. You know that. But let’s not pretend I ever had a choice in this. Even if I had opposed you in the beginning, you would have just made me enemy number one once you got things off the ground. You would have drawn me into it eventually. You don’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer, Anna.” Some of the fight had gone out of him. He wasn’t trying to hurt her, but it was how he felt. It was the truth. They had always been alone together, but Anna’s personality had always been stronger, and he had never minded it. 

Generally speaking, he sort of liked the ease of following orders. It made him feel like he had a purpose in some way, but it wasn’t all he wanted from life. He had been slowly waking up to that fact for the last couple of years. He certainly didn’t want to end up an old man running the streets, or worse, dead before he got that far. It wasn’t like knife fights or chicken races were especially good for mortality rates. And they’d lost guys in the past—it wasn’t a far leap for him to end up with a knife to the gut, or beaten to death in an alley. 

A silence had settled between them, and Anna’s brown eyes searched his, like she was looking for him despite the fact that he was standing right in front of her. When she seemed not find what she was looking for, her scowl deepened. 

“Get. Bent. I never forced you.” Her voice was low and angry. Perhaps even a little hurt. There was another pause, and at length, she said, “You’ve changed, Castiel.” She pressed her lips together, “Is it them? Your so-called ‘life outside the Garrison’?” She glanced toward his bedroom, where Sam and Dean probably were sitting awkwardly waiting for all of this to blow over. “Are they where you’ve been? Bring them in. Make them one of us. It doesn’t need to be this way. Dean is good with the cars. We could-”

“No.” He surprised himself with the speed and certainty of his own answer. Especially considering that he had entertained that very same thought not so long ago. “I don’t want either of them near the Garrison. And they don’t want to be anyway.” He sighed, “They’re my friends too, all right? Maybe I should have told you that I’ve been spending time with them, but I just… they don’t want anything to do with what we do. And I like that about them. I… like how I feel when I’m with them.”

“I saw his bruises, Castiel. You expect me to believe he doesn’t-”

“Yes, I expect you to believe me,” he said sharply. “Look, we’re not getting anywhere right now. I think you should leave. We can talk more about this some other time. Dean is supposed to finish my bike up this week. Things will be...back to normal after that.” He didn’t believe that. He didn’t even want it to be true. But he thought it might make Anna calm down a little. And maybe once he had his bike back, he’d feel more like hanging around everyone else again too. Which would probably help set things right again. It wouldn’t solve his long term issue of potentially wanting to leave the Garrison, but for the time being, things might be all right. He could deal with the rest later. 

“Yeah,” she said, her tone clipped. “Yeah, all right, Castiel.” There was more she wanted to say; he he could tell she was biting her tongue. Her eyes darted toward his room again before she graced him with one last scowl and turned on her heel to leave. 

The door banged shut, and he sighed and went to grab another cigarette. This was the last way he had expected the evening to go. He sat at the window sill again, while he smoked and mulled over everything that had just gone on. He had no idea how he was going to manage to smooth things over with her, and potentially the rest of the guys. He imagined, if she had been worked up enough to break her silence in the first place, some of them had probably been questioning her about his absence. She never did anything without some kind of purpose behind it. 

He watched the sun start to spider its way behind the horizon, and he smoked with one hand while the other toyed with his mostly full deck. He had been smoking less since Sam and Dean had been there, mostly in an attempt to keep them comfortable, but stress or agitation always sent him into a smoking tailspin. Some people chewed their nails or had a nervous tick; Castiel smoked. 

“You okay?” Dean had come back into the room, and was much closer to him than he would have thought possible without him having noticed. 

Castiel glanced around the room before looking back up at Dean, who looked a little uneasy. 

“Where’s Sam?”

“Still in the other room. Reading. You know, you always dodge my questions when you’re feeling low. You’d be bad at poker,” he told him. 

“I am bad at poker,” Castiel admitted. “I never play.”

Dean shrugged in an ‘I told you so,’ sort of way, and Castiel couldn’t help offering him a brief smile. 

“Guess you’re just bad at deception in general. Your walls are thin, and Anna seemed to have you figured out.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Is that why you didn’t tell me you were hustling that game of pool before? Because I’m ‘bad at deception’? And Anna has me figured out because we’ve known each other since we were kids. She’s like my sister.” 

Dean shrugged again, and leaned against the wall next to the other side of the window. There was maybe a foot and half of space between them. “I wasn’t sure how good of a poker face you had. It was easier if you didn’t know. Now I know. It’s terrible.” He smiled and swatted Castiel’s knee with the back of his hand, “It was fun though, wasn’t it? Once you knew. I’d say we could do it again, but you’d probably blow our cover.” 

Dean was teasing him to make him feel better, and it was working. There wasn’t really any escaping dealing with his issues with Anna and the guys, but it was hard to feel sore about it all when he had green eyes that crinkled at the corners and freckles smiling back at him. He hated that they were leaving in the morning. 

“It was fun,” Castiel admitted. “You’re a good distraction. The best distraction.” He put his cigarette out, let his head tilt back against the wall, and watched as Dean laughed and self-consciously rubbed the back of his own neck. 

“Flattery’ll get you everywhere, I guess. Maybe you should try it with your angry friend.”

“Or you should. Flash that grin, and she might forgive me for spending so much time with you and Sam. She won’t admit it, but she’s as much a sucker for a charming smile as anyone.” He was being lavish with his compliments, and for once, he didn’t really care whether or not Dean read anything into it. It wasn’t like he was saying anything that wasn’t true. And for whatever it was worth, Dean had already kissed him twice. Even if they were going to pretend it never happened, Dean could hardly blame him if he was a little freer with his thoughts after that. 

“Is that why she was upset?” 

It was Castiel’s turn to shrug, “Partially. It’s politics too, like I mentioned before. And she wasn’t wrong when she said that I’ve changed.” 

“If me and Sammy are-”

“It’s not that,” Castiel cut him off. “You two have nothing to do with why she’s upset. Or… not nothing, but you’re not the reason. Sure, she’d probably like it if I got you two to join up with us, but she doesn’t actually care about that. They’re just used to having me around. And while they respect her, they’re more likely to bend the rules when it’s just her, than when I’m around to help keep everyone in line. The Garrison was her idea. Always was, so of course she’s in charge. It was through force of will she managed it. I’ve just more or less been the muscle behind her. Not that she needs it. Any of those guys really wanted to try her, and their heads would spin before they knew what hit them.” 

Dean laughed, “She did seem scarier tonight than when I’ve seen her in the past.”

“Less cute?” Castiel asked, lifting a brow. He didn’t know why he asked. It was dumb thing to say. But even though Anna had been completely focused on how angry she was with him, and had hardly looked Dean’s way, there was that tiny spike of possession he felt every time she was anywhere near Dean. It was probably part of the reason he had done such a good job of keeping the Winchesters and the Garrison separate. 

“Why? Think I’ll steal her away from you?” Dean joked. “She’s pretty, just also scary. It works for her.”

“There’s nothing between me and Anna. Like I told you, she’s like my sister.” Castiel tried not to sound snappish. He wasn’t a moony teenager, and he had no business getting worked up just because Dean paid someone else a few compliments. 

“Maybe now, but you went steady once, right? Makes sense she’d be upset if you started shirking her. She probably thinks you’ve been out chasing skirts or something.” Dean was fiddling with the hem of his shirt, which was actually Castiel’s shirt—a ringer tee that he seldom wore, but seemed to suit Dean just fine. 

“It isn’t like that with Anna. Never has been. At least, not for me. She had a minor lapse in judgement when we were younger, and thought she had feelings for me, but once she realized that I’m not where she should put that kind of effort, things got back to normal.”

The sun was practically gone now, but its heat remained. It made leaving the clothes out to dry overnight a more preferable option to bringing them all in and rehanging what hadn’t quite dried in the bathroom. He certainly wasn’t in the mood after the way things had gone with Anna.

Sam appeared down the hall and disappeared into the bathroom, and Castiel realized he hadn’t come out of the room at all since Anna had gone. He wondered if it had been intentional. “I should probably finish putting the dishes away.” He had all but forgotten about them after Anna came in. “Sam can probably come out of hiding now,” he told Dean. “I think he's safe from her wrath.”

He moved to get up, and Dean caught his wrist, not hard, but it was enough to keep him from walking off. It seemed like an odd thing for him to do, and when Castiel looked into his eyes again, his stomach flipped in much the same way it had when they had been at the window before dinner. If they kept this up, he was going to have to stay away from Dean and windows, at least in combination. 

He couldn’t have explained it if he tried—why it was that Dean could look at him and he was ready to lay himself at his feet. Part of him, a part he had to fight very hard to deny, was fully prepared to kiss Dean again. If he had to blame anything, it’d be the look in Dean’s eyes, like he was begging him not to leave him alone. It was probably similar to how dogs and cats at the pound looked when potential owners walked by, and it was nearly enough to undo him. Another part of him, and the part that he was slightly more inclined to give into, simply just wanted to stare at him. Looking at him could be enough if he never had to stop. 

“What is it?” he finally managed, his fingers curling and uncurling absently, as he realized Dean had just been looking right back at him rather than saying anything himself. He barely recognized his own voice. 

Dean looked momentarily startled, like he hadn’t realized what he’d done. Maybe he hadn’t. Castiel never got to find out because Sam chose that moment to come out of the bathroom and down the hall. Dean let go of Castiel, and they both turned their attention to him.

Sam looked a little puzzled, but smiled, “Don’t feel bad, Cas. I finally had a chance to finish reading.” 

 

\--

Having the Winchesters leave was anti-climactic. Dean took the opportunity to make them all another meal, and they crammed in around the table again to have an early, quiet breakfast with Castiel in his work shirt and Sam and Dean in the clothes they had initially arrived in. It was domestic, and it reminded him of his childhood. Dean was a much better cook than his grandmother had been, so that probably helped a little too. He liked eating with the Garrison too, but it was usually a noisy affair no matter what time of day it was because of how many of them there were. He was fond of them, but that level of noise could be grating for someone who more or less liked their solitude. It was seldom that he could eat in near silence with other people. 

When they finished, the three of them walked to the garage together, despite Dean’s insistence that they would be fine on their own. Castiel still refused to let them go on their own, less because he was concerned that they wouldn’t make it to the garage unscathed, and more because he wanted to spend a little longer with them before things got complicated again with Anna and the others. He hated the thought of it, but he couldn’t really see a way around it. He could keep splitting his time, maybe a bit more evenly than he had been recently, but he knew that Anna would always feel slighted, like she was coming in second place to the Winchesters. Like the entire Garrison was. 

“Swing back by in a couple of days, will you?” Dean was asking him this as he unlocked the garage, and Castiel was painfully reminded of Dean asking why he hadn’t come by the week before. 

“I’ll make sure he finishes your bike,” Sam assured him. “And gives you a good discount. It’s the least we can do.” He was being dramatic, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile as Dean shoved him lightly to one side. 

Sam laughed and nudged him with his elbow once he had recovered, “It’s not my fault if you’ve been drawing the repairs out so we could hang out with Cas more often.” 

Castiel thought he was teasing, but Dean looked genuinely embarrassed for a moment, and he wondered if there was any truth at all to Sam’s words. 

“Yeah,” Castiel said, his eyes fixed on a flushed Dean’s face. “How’s Friday for you?” 

“Perfect. It’s a date.” Dean grinned boyishly at him. “You want us to give you a ride to work? I don’t mind.” 

“No, thanks. I can walk.” Castiel reached for his cigarettes as he turned to go. The last thing he needed was to show up at work in front of half the Garrison in Dean’s truck.

 

He arrived at the factory just a few moments behind Inias and the others, though he knew they had left their homes much later than he had his. 

“He. Is. Risen. Long time, no see, Castiel.” Hester jumped out of Inias’s truck and stuck her hands in her pockets. She had blonde, close-cropped hair, and had never been particularly fond of Castiel, though she never really did anything disloyal. Castiel had never quite figured out why she had joined up with them, except that she was Inias’s cousin, and so maybe had tagged along after him. She did her part wherever they were, but she wasn’t really any closer to Anna than she was Castiel, and her loyalties seemed to lie with the others in the group, which was probably why Anna allowed her to stay at all. 

“Hello, Hess,” he said, already preparing himself to suffer through a litany of questions regarding his whereabouts lately. If Anna had been speaking to him before she found out about Sam and Dean, he might have been concerned that she would have told them about them herself. But given that she had stopped freezing him out just to come yell at him, he didn’t think she’d be so inclined. She had her reputation to uphold. 

“‘Hello, Hess,’” she parroted his gravelly tone as they all walked together toward the factory building. “This guy is practically M.I.A., and that’s all he has to say?” 

“Is everything all right, Castiel?” Inias usually played buffer to his cousin when she really got going, and while he appreciated it, his concern just made Castiel feel guilty. “We’ve been a little worried. You haven’t been around as much lately, and there have been a few reports here and there of scuffles over just about anything.”

At least it seemed like Inias hadn’t mentioned the night Castiel had spent at his house to any of the others. Not that he would have much to say about it other than the fact that he had come late and left without any really explanation. 

Castiel frowned a little, Anna’s words from the night before clicking. If things had been heating up lately, then it made sense she would be worried about him being nearby if anything went down unexpectedly. 

“I’m fine.” He reached for his timecard and got in line to punch in. He lowered his voice, “Any word on the cause?” 

Gang wars, rumbles, brawls, even street races and hustles were all carefully coordinated. It was rarely something that happened out of the blue, and whether or not you were on the giving or receiving end of things didn’t change the fact that no small amount of planning had gone into it. Objectives could be simple, like earning money or maintaining pride, or they could be more ambitious, like expanding territory or wiping out another group’s guys. Reasoning was usually up to whimsy, but execution seldom was. Which was why it was so important to keep an ear to the ground when something out of the ordinary went on. 

“You’d know if you ever stuck around, wouldn’t you? I’m not sure what the point of you is anymore, Castiel.” Hester punched her own card and breezed by him to her station. 

Inias frowned, “Sorry about her. Nothing confirmed. I think money is on Lucky’s guys, but The Banshees have been causing a fair amount of trouble lately, so it’s anybody’s guess. Anna’s just had everyone keep a low profile lately. No going out alone. Jackets only when we’re all together.”

They walked together through the factory until they had to part to go to their respective stations. 

Castiel still avoided everyone at lunch, but he met up with all of them again after work. He had just needed some time to think things through. He had decided he would need to apologize to Anna at some point, not only for how things had gone the night before, but for the fact that he hadn’t been paying attention to the affairs of the Garrison like he should have in the first place. Whether he wanted to eventually part ways or not, he was still a part of the group, and in that respect, Anna had been right. He did have certain responsibilities when it came to them. Sam and, particularly Dean, had distracted him from it, and despite the fact that he very much enjoyed spending time with them, he needed to re-prioritize. He hadn’t been lying when he told Dean he was the best distraction. When he was with the Winchesters, it was easy to forget that he was part of the Garrison at all. 

He’d go back for his bike in a few days, and, at the least, until they sorted out whatever it was that was brewing, he’d stay away from them for the most part. Dean wouldn’t want to risk Sam’s safety anyway, and if they were seen together by the wrong people, it was definitely a possibility. They’d have to understand. He wasn’t in a position to choose between them and his other friends. Loyalty was everything to Anna and the others, and the reality was that he had only started to get to know the Winchesters in the last several weeks. As much as he had grown to care for them, he couldn’t, in good conscience, choose them over the others. Particularly not in the face of potential unrest. 

 

\--

 

In the end, apologizing to Anna had been fairly simple. He had waited until the next day, and then visited her at home that morning before either of them left for work. He rarely went over there because Anna was private about her home life. She lived with her father still- took care of him, because after he had come back from the war, he had fallen into the bottle, and by the time she had gotten him to climb back out, there wasn’t much left of him. He couldn’t hold a job due to both mental and physical scars, and for whatever reason, Anna absolutely refused help of any kind when it came to dealing with him. Castiel had tried and failed many times before he eventually gave up on trying to persuade her otherwise. 

So, when he knocked on her door that morning, rather than bring him inside, she came out and stood with him on the front porch, already dressed for work. He explained to her that he realized he had been distracted recently, and while the Winchesters had been part of it, they weren’t all of it. That he wanted things to be okay between them, and that while things were changing for him, he knew that there were things he had to do, and that he couldn’t drop them without any warning. Surprisingly, she simply listened while he spoke, struggled to find the right words, and when he finished, she was silent for a long time. 

“Since you’re so chummy with them now, you think you can get your mechanic to give us a discount on parts?” Anna flashed him a brief smile, clapped his shoulder, and the tension between them was gone. 

He supposed it was why they had been friends for so long. She was as quick to forgive as she was to anger, and that made it easy for him as long as he knew the right time to back down. 

“I don’t know about that,” he told her lightly. 

“Well, then can you get me a date, at least?” She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “I know I was steamed the other night, and he was kind of a mess, but he’s a real flutter-bum, you know? Good-looking as the day is long. Even with the bruises.” She sounded vaguely wistful in a way that reminded Castiel that Anna, for all her hard-edged bravado, was not immune to the charms of men. 

Castiel pressed his lips together and reached for his Luckies. Part of him wanted to tell her everything. How much he wanted Dean. How they had kissed twice, but nothing had come of it. How nothing could come of it. How he must have a girlfriend named ‘Mary’ off at school somewhere since he never saw her, and Dean never spoke about her. But he didn’t. He had just apologized for being distracted, and if he admitted all of that, not only would she probably think he was losing his mind, but she’d never believe he was going to try and straighten up. He didn’t want to risk upsetting things when he had just barely managed to set them right. 

“Don’t even think it,” Anna warned. 

He sighed and tucked the pack back into his pocket. “I think he’s probably taken,” he told her. 

Her mouth twisted slightly, “Damn. Well, it’s not surprising. Guy like that can’t possibly be hurting for dates.”

“No,” Castiel agreed. All he could think about was the feel of Dean’s mouth against his, though he was trying desperately to think of anything else. “I don’t think he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is finally up! I liked writing this chapter, though sometimes it felt like I'd never get it finished. I like the back and forth between Dean and Cas, but I also really enjoy writing Sam and Cas centered scenes. His relationships with Anna and the others can also be fun to write, and I like exploring things from Castiel's perspective. In the past, I've always been too afraid to write things from his viewpoint because the fact that he's not human in the show always made me a little nervous. I wasn't sure how that would translate into my own writing, and particularly while writing him as a human. But, this idea grabbed me, so I've been running with it. 
> 
> Thank you all for your kind words and patience. It really has helped motivate me to keep writing, even on hard days. Being able to write here helps get my mind off all of the bad stuff. I still have a lot going on that I have to deal with at work and in my personal life, but when summer hits, I should be more settled again, and updates should happen a little more regularly than they have been.
> 
> Also, quick note: the chapters have titles now! I'm not good at this, but since the fic title is a Sinatra song, I figured I'd follow suit with the the chapter titles. I tried to make the songs semi-relevant and period appropriate. So, here they are so far:
> 
> Title: "I've Got You Under My Skin" Frank Sinatra  
> 1: "Good Golly Miss Molly" Little Richard  
> 2: "The Great Pretender" The Platters  
> 3: "Money Honey" Elvis Presley  
> 4: "Sh-boom" The Crewcuts  
> 5: "I Walk the Line" Johnny Cash


	6. Chances Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is kind of a flirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are probably quite a few notes at the end of the chapter. As a quick note to start, in this chapter, you'll meet a character called Maurice. His name is pronounced 'Morris' instead of 'Mor-eece.' Not actually that important, but it makes him more pretentious in my head.

It had been days since he had seen either Sam or Dean, so approaching the garage felt a little surreal to him after having been in such close proximity to them the week before. He realized, now, that he had missed them. He didn’t have a lot of time to think about it when he was spending time with Anna and the others—they had a way of filling up space in his head that was neither particularly pleasant or unpleasant, but rather like listening to static between radio stations—not taxing, but constant in a way that prevented him from thinking about much else. When he was alone, or even just with the Winchesters, the static tended to clear, and he could think again. He just hadn’t been on his own much in the last few days. 

Anna had forgiven him, but in addition to her wariness about his investment in their group, there was the added stress of whatever was to come. Nothing that had happened, as far as Castiel could tell, had been a direct move against anyone specific. Any fights that occurred seemed, largely to happen at random, and due to Anna’s hyper vigilance, not to any of their own guys. Still, he understood her unease. It was a little like how you could tell a storm was brewing even though the sky looked blue for miles. There was no clear way to connect the dots, but the air smelled different.   

So, even if it was the last time for a while he’d get to have any kind of conversation with Sam and Dean, he was glad for the time away from everyone else. 

Sam was outside when he arrived, but the garage doors were closed, and Castiel immediately felt his hair stand on end, despite the fact that it had been sweltering all day. The only thing that prevented him from breaking into a run was that Sam didn’t look particularly disturbed, and was sitting on the wooden bench that he frequented when he felt like the office had gotten too warm for him to think. It was usually used for people who needed to wait for Dean to finish the work on their cars, but Sam sat there as often as any paying customer. He was reading, which was no surprise, but he gave Castiel a sunny smile when he was close enough for them to speak.

“How’s it goin’, Cas?” Sam stretched and stood. “Keepin’ outta trouble?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” Castiel told him. 

Sam shrugged. “Ready to have your bike back? You’ve been bumming rides with your friends, right?”

Castiel nodded, “That or walking. They can get a little… loud, so sometimes walking is preferable. What are you doing out here alone?”

Sam rolled his eyes, “You mean ‘where’s Dean,’ right? Should be back any second,” Sam said. “Or, at least I think he will. He left a little while ago.”

It was times like this that Castiel wondered about how perceptive Sam could be. He never made accusations, but there was something in the way he could look at him that sometimes made Castiel feel completely exposed. 

“Then why aren’t you with him?” Castiel stood downwind and lit up. He might have cutback since he had been hanging around the Winchesters, but he was by no means near quitting, and Sam’s quick assessment of his earlier question had given him a case of nerves.    

“I’m supposed to be waiting on you. He didn’t want you to up and leave if you got here and we were both gone. And, I guess, make sure we don’t lose any more business than we already did while we were staying with you. Dean’s been so behind, he’s been having me help out. Oil changes and stuff. And he had to turn down a couple jobs, which wasn’t ideal.”

“I wouldn’t have left,” Castiel told him. “He has my bike.” 

“I know. But you know how Dean can be. He gets something in his head, and it’s just…” Sam rolled his eyes again and lifted his arms defeatedly. 

Castiel liked that he spoke to him as though they had known each other for years rather than a little over a month. ‘You know how Dean is,’ implied that he knew Dean almost as well as Sam, even though they both knew that wasn’t quite true. Maybe it was more wishful thinking than anything, but it made him feel closer to them. 

“Speaking of, you have anymore luck with that job search? I’m sure they could use a stock boy or something down at the store. Might need a haircut first, though.” 

Sam pushed his curls out of his eyes and scowled, “I like it longer. And no, I didn’t see any point in looking. Dean’s shipping me off to stay with Bobby for a couple of weeks. Said he thinks both dad and me would ‘benefit from the time away’.” 

Castiel laughed at Sam’s impression of his brother, but didn’t know how to feel about the news. He liked Sam. And even if they weren’t all going to be hanging out as regularly as they had been in the last few weeks, he was a little disappointed to hear that it wouldn’t be an option even if he’d had a choice.

“He wants to keep you safe, is all. And there’s no reason to work if you don’t have to. Might as well enjoy your youth while you’ve got it. Summers go away when school ends.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, “You sound like you’re a hundred. You’re not  _ that  _ much older. I know he’s trying to protect me, but who’s gonna protect him, huh? I’m the one that drove us here that night. And I doubt he would have even thought of going to your place if he had been alone. He’s too stubborn. He might be my big brother, but we’ve always looked out for each other, even if he thinks I’m still just a kid.”

“The pot shouldn’t call the kettle black,” Castiel told him dryly. “And I’m old enough. I’ve been at the factory since I was fourteen, so I think I’m qualified to tell you that work isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He took a final drag of his cigarette and then carefully put it out on the sole of his boot before he tucked what was left of it behind his ear. He didn’t like to leave the butts outside the shop if he could help it. “Don’t worry about Dean. I’ll look out for him while you’re gone.” He didn’t look at Sam when he said it, but he meant every word. 

There was a silence that fell between them, and Castiel thought maybe Sam hadn’t taken him seriously. But when he finally got up the nerve to look over at him, Sam was busy studying him. It made Castiel uncomfortable, like Sam was reading his thoughts, or trying to. 

“Thanks,” he said finally. “You’re a good friend, Cas.”         

Castiel looked away again, and Sam got to his feet to greet Dean as he pulled up to the garage.

“It’s about time,” Sam said as he approached the truck. Castiel drifted a few paces behind him. “We’ve been waiting for-ever.”

“Yeah, yeah, quit your whining, and help me. Go open the garage up.” Dean had jumped out of the truck, and had given Castiel a quick smile before he went to let down the tailgate. He had something covered in the back, and Castiel followed after him to see what it was. Dean climbed into the truck bed and hoisted a couple of planks of wood out of it to act as a kind of ramp.

It reminded Castiel of the time he watched Dean haul tires from his truck to the garage and had momentarily lost the ability to think. He averted his eyes and focused on a scuff on the toe of his boot. The last thing he needed right now was to go all hot under the collar for Dean while Sam was literally feet away. If he hadn’t been seeing through him before, he had a feeling he’d figure it out if Castiel didn’t keep a lid on himself.

“Make sure those are even, will you, Cas?” 

Castiel did as he was told, and stomped on the planks for good measure to make sure they were steady. Sam had joined them again and was grinning ear to ear as Dean carefully wheeled his way down the makeshift ramp. 

“I wanted to make it worth your while if you came,” Dean said a little breathlessly as he stopped in front of Castiel. 

He dropped the kickstand on what Castiel had quickly come to realize was his bike, and then pulled the tarp away with a flourish. 

“It’s primed, so I thought you could paint your wings on it while you were here. If you wanted, I mean. Sammy helped me set up the garage so you could use the space to do it. I mean, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think about whether or not you’d have the time to do it today, it just seemed like a good idea at the time with…everything...”

For a moment, Castiel didn’t know what to say. His bike almost looked better than it had before Al wrecked it. It had a fresh coat of paint, and the chrome pieces looked like they had been polished. Even the leather of his seat looked like it had been oiled. He almost didn’t want to touch it. And then Dean was doing that cute thing where he talked too much because he felt unsure, and it made Castiel want to kiss him until he couldn’t see straight. 

Eventually, very slowly, he let himself run his hands along it. It had been weeks, but it had felt like years, and he hadn’t realized just how much he had missed riding until his bike was right there in front of him, entirely whole, and without so much as a scratch. He couldn’t believe Dean had taken the time to get the base paint job done, let alone all of the detailing. And then he had gone and set up the garage—now that Sam had opened the doors again, he could see the drop cloths and things laid out for him to use—which was altogether too much. He squeezed the handlebars, tested the feel of them in his grip after having gone so long without it.   

“This is...how much do I owe you?” It was the only thing he could think to say that wasn’t going to make him look like a total sap. If he was given to crying, he would have been near tears already. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. 

“You guys can talk about that later, Cas.” Sam had come to stand next to him. “Are you gonna finish painting it, or are you gonna let all this setup go to waste?” 

Castiel offered him a brief smile and then mounted his bike. God, he had missed it. He settled into the seat, and after a moment, started it up. It came to life beneath him, not a hitch in the engine, and when he finally looked up at Dean again to acknowledge his good work, he found he couldn’t quite make out the expression on Dean’s face. 

He looked… well, there wasn’t really a good word for it, but between his faded bruises and lifted brows, he thought maybe it was something close to panic. Or like he was having some sort of existential crisis. Neither made any sense. 

Castiel glanced at Sam, who was still grinning, and then back at Dean, who had seemed to recover by that time, though only mildly. Castiel let off the clutch and rode a small circle around Sam and Dean before pulling his bike into the garage. He shut it off, and the Winchesters followed after him. 

Dean cleared his throat as Castiel dismounted, and began pointing out the things he had prepared for him. “I know a guy, Ash. Does paint jobs. I got most of this stuff from him, so I know it’s all quality material. I had him paint everything once I finished the repairs the other day. He owed me a favor, so I called it in. He was actually pretty impressed with your handiwork on the wing that hadn’t been mostly scraped off. Said he hated to paint over it.”

“Dean, this is… thank you,” Castiel told him firmly. He didn’t want to overwhelm them or embarrass himself with an emotional display, but he was very close to it. If anyone were to ask him what his most prized possession was, it would have been his bike, hands down. At this point, he was ready to pay double whatever Dean ended up charging him, even if it took him  a little longer to get it all to him. 

“Yeah, No problem,” Dean told him. “Just, uh, do your thing.” 

Once Castiel had properly situated himself and the paint, he set to work. Sam sat nearby and watched, while Dean wandered off. Eventually, he heard the radio come on—The Cricket’s “It’s So Easy” twanging out in the background. 

“Is he all right?” Castiel asked after he had finished his first coat.

Sam shrugged, “Yeah. He just doesn’t like to admit he has feelings. He’s happy you’re painting it here.”

Castiel huffed disbelief, “This is probably the best surprise I’ve ever gotten. Ever. And I don’t particularly like surprises.” He switched sides to paint another coat of gold over the carefully outlined wings.  

“Glad to hear it. Dean will be too. He’ll just never admit it willingly.” 

  
  
  
  


By the time Castiel’s bike was mostly dried and ready to go, the sun was starting to set. Dean had spent most of the time in the office, presumably doing paperwork, while Sam had sat with Castiel as he painted. Conversation with Sam was easy, and since he did most of the talking anyway, Castiel didn’t have to worry about splitting his focus between his bike and coming up with interesting things to say to him. Sometimes he’d ask a question about what Castiel was doing, but otherwise, he just filled the time talking about what he was reading and how he wanted to do work that would help people once he got older.    

When he finished, Sam insisted he clean up for him so that he could go talk to Dean about payment arrangements. Grudgingly, Castiel found his way to the cramped office, not entirely thrilled about the prospect of being caught in there alone with Dean. Even if things were more or less back to normal between them, he didn’t need any reason to find himself alone in a tiny room with him. 

Dean had a fan blowing and the window open, which was good, because there was absolutely no airflow in such a small space. Castiel could just imagine how stifling it would be to sit in there for any length of time if the window had been closed, and he wondered how Sam managed to do his homework in there after school during the warmer months. Even with the window open, it was still too warm, and Castiel could see the sweat coming through the fabric of Dean’s white tee shirt. He’d removed his coveralls, which he seemed to wear at random intervals, rather than for any particular jobs, to the waist. He was also wearing glasses, tortoise shell with a keyhole bridge, which was… new.  

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, not bothering to glance up from the ledger he was writing in. “Finished already?”

“Yes.” Castiel stuck his hands in his front pockets. Dean would probably strangle him if he tried smoking in such a cramped space. “I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he said without meaning to. Dean looked just as good in them as he did without them. Castiel knit his brows together and pressed on, hoping that maybe Dean would ignore him. “I know you didn’t have to go to all that trouble for me. Whatever it is you’re asking for it all, the work and the paint, I’ll double it. Just name your price.” If Anna had been there, she would have called him stupid, and probably hit him, for giving Dean such an opening to take advantage of him, but he didn’t care. He meant it. Whatever Dean was asking, he didn’t think it would be enough to account for what it meant to him to have his bike back again. Let alone his having gotten it painted. 

“Only to read,” Dean said as he finally closed his ledger and looked up at Castiel. He reached over and turned the radio down. “Try not to let it get around. It’ll ruin my image.” He pulled them off and put them in a case he took from the desk drawer. “And you might not want to lead with that if you ever get work done anywhere else. A less honorable guy  _ might  _ take you for all you’re worth.” Dean’s features were teasing, much more relaxed than they had been when Castiel had looked at him from the seat of his bike.

“I mean it, Dean. Even if it takes me all year.” 

“She really means that much to you?” Dean asked. He had one brow lifted in question.

Castiel gave a sharp nod. “Like I told you, my wings.” He couldn’t elaborate further than that. Not right now. He wouldn’t have been able to contain his emotions. 

Dean nodded slowly, and Castiel could see the gears turning in his head. He didn’t think Dean would try to get over on him, but Castiel braced himself for the damage anyway. He had already agreed, and he wouldn’t take it back now. Whatever Dean asked for, he’d get it in double. 

“All right.” Dean caught his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, and Castiel tried not to let himself be distracted by it. “Fifty bucks. And you go out for drinks with me again.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “Dean! That’s not nearly-”

“You said you’d double it, right? So, all told, a hundred bucks, and two drinks? Doesn’t sound so bad to me. Not to mention, you gave me your share of our winnings when we were together last time, so we’ll call that a down payment. I’m not coming out too short. Plus, I owe you for what you did for me and Sammy.” 

Castiel was sure that couldn’t possibly be true. Between parts, labor, the paint- gold was not a cheap a color- and whatever else was involved in repairing a bike, he was sure that Dean was shorting himself fifty dollars or more. “Dean, really, that’s not something you owe me for. I’d have…we’re...friends...” he had been going to say that he’d have done the same for anyone, but he knew that wasn’t true. He’d had Garrisoners stay with him for short stints until other arrangements could be made, but it had never been like what it had with the Winchesters. He didn’t give up his bed unless it was for Anna, sometimes not even then. And he didn’t think any of them had ever actually cooked a meal for him. He had certainly never kissed any of them before.  

The fan was whirring in the background, and Castiel wondered if it sounded as loud to Dean as it did to him.

“Yeah, we are. So let me take care of you, all right?” 

It wasn’t that the phrase had no effect on him at this point, rather that he knew that if he let himself process hearing Dean say it, he’d lose focus entirely, and so he ignored it. “I just think-”

“-Besides,” Dean cast his eyes down and ran his hand over the back of his neck, “didn’t you say you wanted to buy me a drink before? Now’s your chance, right? Friends do that.”

And what was he supposed to say to that? Dean was being facetious—he knew that—but there was an awkward weight to his words, like they meant more than either of them were ready or willing to admit, and Castiel didn’t know how to insist on doing more or giving more without sounding like a moron at this point.

“All right,” he said eventually. “Fine. A hundred dollars and drinks. I’ll drive us if you name a time.”

Dean looked up at him, his brows lifted, “This weekend, then. I’m taking Sammy to stay with Bobby for a few weeks, so I won’t have to worry about leaving him alone for too long.”

“Here,” Castiel reached into his hip pocket for his wallet, counted out the money Dean had asked for, and put it on the desk in front of him. “Where do you want me to pick you up?” Castiel had found some of the authority in his voice again, partially because he was irritated with himself for not managing to properly pay Dean for his services, and partially because Dean was being so ridiculously stubborn about it. If Sam was worried about finding himself a job, he was sure they could probably use the money more than he could.   

“Oh, uh, here works, I guess. Around seven?” Dean gathered the bills from the desktop and reached down to put them in a lock box he kept in the bottom drawer. He didn’t even bother to count. “Are you- is that all right?”

Castiel frowned a little, but only because he didn’t trust himself not to make some sarcastic remark about Dean’s unwillingness to be properly paid for his work, and then subsequent uncertainty about this. 

“You guys get everything hashed out?” Sam had stuck his head in the door after a quick knock. 

Castiel had already been half turned that direction, ready to go now that he was irritated with himself. “Seven is fine.”

Sam looked between them for a moment, and then eventually opened the door the rest of the way to let himself inside. “Dean, you gotta come check out Cas’s wings. They look great. I dunno why you’ve been holed up in here all evening anyway- it’s so hot this time of day.”

“I’ve had work to do, Sammy. This place doesn’t run itself, you know.”    

Sam rolled his eyes, and Castiel patted Sam on the shoulder on his way out front to smoke one more time before he left.

  
  
  
  


Castiel did not visit Sam and Dean again that week. He hated it. If he’d had his way, he would have liked to have seen Sam again before Dean made him go to Bobby’s for the summer, but keeping close to the Garrison for the rest of the week was the only way he could see them being all right with him disappearing for another weekend. Especially with everyone being so on edge already. 

“Tell me again why you need to be on your own again tonight?” Anna was sitting cross legged on his couch while Castiel smoked near the window. “I’ve got everyone going out in pairs or groups, and you want me to make an exception for you.” 

He sighed and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. He had promised himself he was going to try and balance things with the Garrison with his private life, and that meant being more honest about what he was doing when. Part of the reason Anna had been so upset with him in the first place was that he hadn’t been very forthcoming about the time he was spending with the Winchesters. He had already cutback on that significantly, just in the week since their little blowout, and while he had planned to all but cut them off once he got his bike back, his promise to Sam to look out for Dean in his absence put a slight kink in that plan. He didn’t know how he was going to make it work, but he knew it had to involve being honest with Anna about some things. 

“I’ve got… a commitment,” he told her wearily. “I won’t be alone.”

“You’ll be with Dean.”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t bring him along with us… because he’s square?” She crossed her arms, “I didn’t think he was that big of a prick. I doubt he’ll do you much good if someone decides they want to try their luck taking you out of commission.”

Castiel took a drag of his cigarette and glanced at the clock. He’d have to leave soon if he wanted to be on time to get Dean. “I can handle myself, Anna. I’ll be careful. And, he’s not. Not usually.”

Anna lifted a skeptical brow at him. 

“It’s not like that. Look, he  fixed my bike, all right? You saw it- it runs better now than it did before Al wrecked it. And then he… it looks practically new now, and it’s an old bike. He gave me a pretty big discount on all of it, so I agreed to buy him a drink. That’s all. Since he did me a favor, I didn’t want to overwhelm him by bringing him out with a bunch of rowdy hoods, all right?” He put his cigarette out irritably, and tried to calm himself down. He hadn’t really considered that he’d end up going out alone with Dean again, and between planning that and having to field Anna’s questions, his feathers were a little ruffled. 

Anna got up to stand across from him and waved away the lingering smoke before she gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder. “Cool it, will you? I’m just giving you a hard time. He seems all right. And if he can manage to get you loaded, I’ll make him an honorary Garrisoner for life.” 

Castiel frowned, “I don’t plan on getting loaded, even as a favor to him. It’s just a couple of drinks.”

Anna pursed her lips, “Still, I’d pay good money to see it.”

“You have seen it,” he told her flatly. He hadn’t been really drunk since they had been teenagers, but his first time trying alcohol had been with her. 

“That was years ago, Castiel. I’m sure it would look very different now. You’re less awkward than you used to be. And I’d know better than to let you anywhere near a jar of honey.”

Castiel scowled at that. Anna didn’t know how to let a thing die. “I’m leaving,” he told her. “You should too.”

“Just don’t get yourself killed while you’re out with a square. You’ll make us all look bad,” she told him. She was teasing, but there was a note of seriousness in her voice that told him she really was a little concerned that he might get himself into trouble.

“I’ll be fine, Anna.”

  
  
  


Dean was outside the garage when he pulled up, and Castiel tried not to notice how good he looked in his short-sleeved, button-down. He had it tucked into his jeans, but it was essentially a slightly nicer version of the plaid shirts Castiel had sometimes seen him wear open over his tee shirts in the past. It was rare that he got to see him before he was grease-stained or sweat soaked, and in the dying light of the day, with the sun just catching the blond in his hair, Dean looked radiant. Castiel stopped his bike in front of him. 

“Hey there, stranger. Goin’ my way?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. 

It was stupid, but there was something infectious in his smile, and Castiel couldn’t help giving him one of his own. “Maybe.” He killed the engine and planted his feet on the ground as he twisted around to open the leather side pack attached to his bike. He produced an old denim jacket he’d pulled from the back of his closet, along with the only helmet he owned. He had worn both of them when he had first learned to ride, but he seldom wore a helmet now unless he was going long distances, and his Garrison jacket had long since replaced the denim one. Anna would not have approved of him wearing it while on his own—it would draw attention—but he wasn’t concerned. He had it on over a dark blue and white striped tee-shirt, and while he didn’t usually think too much about it, he liked the way they looked together. “Put these on first. I don’t plan on crashing, but on the off chance that we do, I’d rather not have you end up skinned alive.” 

Dean lifted a brow, but eventually took and shrugged into the jacket, and clipped the helmet under his chin. “What about you? Think your head will win a fight with the pavement?” The jacket was a snug fit, but it somehow still worked incredibly well on Dean. Or, at least, Castiel thought so.

“We’ll find out,” Castiel told him. “Climb on.” He shifted forward just a little, but there was already enough room for Dean without him having to do that. The guy he had originally bought his bike from had fitted it with an extra seat where the luggage rack would have been, so that while it usually only accommodated one, two could now fit comfortably. Castiel almost never had passengers, but removing the modification seemed more trouble than it was worth, and after all, it was going to allow him to ride them two towns over with Dean pressed right up against him. It felt like divine providence that, for once in his life, seemed to be working in his favor.

Dean did as he was told and settled in behind him with his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “Where’re we going? Same place as before?” 

“No, I thought we might try somewhere else tonight.” He had considered the bar they had gone to before, but between the already high tensions on the street, the fact that he had absolutely no desire to run into anyone he knew while they were together, and that he wanted to spend as much time with Dean as he could before he had to figure out how to distance himself from him again, made him change his mind. “Hang on tight and try not to fall off.” He started his bike again, and he felt Dean lean in and shift to wrap his arms around his waist.

As much as Castiel enjoyed riding during the day with the sun beating down on him, and the wind whipping through his hair, he loved riding at night. Moreover, he loved riding at twilight. On his bike, with the sun setting, the sky shifting from blue to red to purple to black, it was the closest he ever got to being in another world. To feeling like his life was his own. The closest he ever came to running away and not looking back was when he was riding down an open stretch of road at twilight. 

The thought was more tempting having Dean with him. It was easy to imagine riding off together, finding a new town somewhere neither of them had ever heard of, and starting a life. They could get a sidecar for Sam. Castiel could leave behind his risky lifestyle without the resentment or the danger that would come with trying to get out now, and Sam and Dean could avoid their father. Dean could set up a new garage, Sam could finish school, and Castiel… well, he didn’t know what he would do yet. He’d need to figure it out. But he’d have the chance if he didn’t have the Garrison to think about, or the knowledge that no one expected him to ever leave the factory looming over his head. Maybe he could spend his days drawing sketches of Sam and Dean. Maybe Dean would be fine leaving Mary, and realize he liked kissing Castiel just as much. Maybe more. Maybe pigs would fly.

Once they had been on the road for a while, Dean relaxed his grip, apparently confident enough that he wasn’t going to suddenly fall. While it had been nice to have him close, Castiel couldn’t complain—it was summer, and he was wearing  leather.

They reached the city, and Castiel weaved between cars and through the streets with a practiced ease until he found the bar he was looking for. It was a little, hole-in-the wall kind of place, and he had only been there a handful of times on his own. As a rule, he didn’t really frequent bars, but he had found this one by accident once on a lone excursion to the city, and it left an impression.

The entrance was through an alley, and Castiel had to park his bike at a lot a block away.  Dean removed his helmet and peeled out of his jacket before he dismounted and handed them both over to Castiel. 

“I see why you missed her so much now,” Dean grinned. “That was awesome.” 

Castiel hung the helmet over his handlebars, and shrugged out of his own jacket before folding Dean’s inside his and tucking them both in the sidepack on his bike. “I’m glad you understand. If you had to ride with Gabe and Hester to work every day, you’d be even more sympathetic.” 

Dean laughed, “Are they your friends? I guess I just thought Anna took you anywhere you needed to go.”

Castiel checked his pockets for his wallet and cigarettes, “Anna doesn’t work at the factory. The others do. Gabriel… likes to talk. Hester just hates me. She’s exhausting.” He got off his bike, and dropped the kickstand before heading toward the bar. 

“Well, clearly, her opinion doesn’t count. I don’t hate you, and I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character. Even if you do look a little like a jailbird,” Dean nudged him teasingly with his elbow.

Castiel looked down at his striped shirt and frowned a little, “I’m not the one who hustled a game of pool.” 

“You were an accomplice.”

“Unwittingly.” 

“If you just admit you had a good time, I might consider helping you get off easy,” Dean’s voice had dropped an octave, and there was that mischievous look to him, like the one he had gotten that day they had gone swimming with Sam.

Castiel took a deep breath and refused to say anything else after that. Dean was going to be the death of him. He had no business saying the things he did, whether he realized how they sounded to a guy who was so pathetically gone on him or not. It was criminal.

Dean shifted a little closer to him as they entered the alley, and Castiel pretended not to notice. It didn’t hurt to be on guard, but if he had been really concerned that anything would happen to them, he never would have brought Dean there. From the outside, the bar—which was really more of a club, but without the dress code—didn’t look like much, and if you didn’t know what to look for, you’d probably miss it.

“Cas, you sure this is it?” Dean asked as they stopped just outside a narrow door. It was painted a muted green, and there were white flowers outlined in each of the corners. The first time Castiel had come here, he hadn’t known what kind of flowers they were meant to be, but he later learned that they were carnations.  

For the first time since he had picked Dean up, Castiel felt a twinge of uncertainty. He considered that he may have made a miscalculation and that, at the end of this, Dean would not be at all amused. He didn’t really mean it as a joke, but he thought that if things got dicey, he could play it that way. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I want a smoke first,” he said evenly. The paint on the wall around the door was peeling and equally muted in color, mostly from age, but Castiel doubted the place had ever been particularly brightly colored. It would have attracted too much attention. Though, the sections of wall around the door were decorated in an assortment of other flowers—daffodils, pansies, daisies, violets, and a few others he wasn’t quite sure about. It had been what had caught his eye about the place to begin with. Despite the worn look of it all, it was beautiful, and the flowers looked surprisingly realistic. He could appreciate good art. 

Dean sighed and leaned against the wall next to him while he lit up. He had brought his cigarettes along, because going without them gave him anxiety, but he hadn’t planned to smoke while he was with Dean. Now, he was glad he hadn’t decided to try to forego them entirely, because the thought of knocking on that door was making him antsy. 

“When did you start smoking?” Dean asked. “Or maybe I should ask why.” 

Castiel exhaled slowly, “When I was around Sam’s age. Give or take.”

“But you said you pole vaulted, right? Surely your coach wouldn’t-”     

Castiel shrugged, “I quit the track team around the same time. A lot was happening all at once back then, and I just picked it up. Helps me think. Does it really bother you that much?”

Dean mirrored his shrug. “I read that thing I told you about. That article or whatever, says it probably causes cancer. And…” He looked skyward and let his head tilt back against the brick. “... My old man picked it up while he was off fightin’ the good fight. I don’t remember him doing it before, so, yeah, I guess I’m not that fond.” 

“All right.” Castiel put his cigarette out after another drag. Dean looked a little surprised, but he didn’t say anything about it as Castiel ground the tip against a blank piece of brick and put the remainder of his cigarette back in the pack. It had been short-lived, and he was still wound a little too tightly for him to feel very relaxed, but damn it if Dean didn’t have him wrapped around his finger. 

He slid his Luckies back into his pocket, and then very carefully knocked on the faded green door in a particular sequence. There was a beat of silence, and a little window at the top of the door slid open. 

“Two,” Castiel said. He held up his fingers to indicate the number to set of brown eyes that darted between them. The window snapped shut again, and there was a longer stretch of silence in which Dean shifted anxiously, and Castiel wondered if he had forgotten some vital step that was meant to grant them access. 

Eventually, the door swung open, and Castiel grabbed Dean’s elbow to guide him inside as he stepped through. 

“Welcome to the Carnation Club, gentlemen.” Brown eyes also had brown hair and broad shoulders. He had made himself visible to them once he had shut the door tight behind them again. He was casually dressed, but wore a red blazer over his black shirt and pegged pants. It wasn’t a particularly flattering look in Castiel’s opinion, but he might have been slightly biased because he didn’t like the way the guy was looking at Dean. 

It hadn’t occurred to him when he decided to come here that Dean might garner attention, even though was clearly deserved, because even in plaid, he was perfection personified. He just wanted a place where he knew no one else would go, and where they might be able to be a little more relaxed around one another. The Carnation Club had seemed like the solution to him, only because he thought he might have the advantage of being more familiar with the place than Dean. He knew that none of his other friends would show up there, so it felt safer than if he had chosen some other random bar closer to town.   

He tugged Dean along down the dimly lit hall, and didn’t bother to acknowledge Brown eyes any further. Once they were inside, they could find a corner to plant themselves in and talk and drink, and forget the rest of the world existed. It would be easy enough to do when he could spend the night getting lost in the forest of Dean’s eyes. 

Dean stumbled along after him, “Cas, what is this place? You been here before?”   

There was another moment in which Castiel considered playing dumb, but lying seemed pointless when they were already this far. “Yes, I’ve been here before. Watch your step,” the hall dropped into a short set of stairs, and he kept his grip on Dean’s elbow as they took them. A moment later, they emerged out into a large circular room. 

The Carnation Club, was technically in the basement of an older building. The thought was that it would garner less attention than an above-ground establishment, and the generally rundown look of the outside would ward off any other unwanted attention. Anyone who was meant to be there would know by the door decoration that they were in the right place, and the knock (which changed anywhere from week to week to month to month) served as an extra measure of security. 

Castiel, would have never called himself a regular, but he had been there on more than one occasion, and he knew a few faces. 

The bar ran along the curve of one wall, immediately to their right, and directly across the room was a small stage, which currently contained a handsome group of jazz players dressed in drape suits of varying colors, which complimented their darker skin tones. There were tables strategically placed throughout the room, with a few near the walls secluded by heavily curtained partitions. The rest were situated so that the floor toward the front was cleared for dancing. Everything was decorated in varying shades of green or lavender, and had floral accents.  

Before Dean got the chance to look too hard at anyone or anything, Castiel steered him toward an open table near the wall, but unfortunately, opposite the bar. He’d have to leave and come back with drinks for them, or they’d have to wait for one of the waiters to come by.

They sat, and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. They were here. They had a table. If Dean had any objections, he’d probably find out shortly, but for now, they were here. He chanced a look at him, and saw how large Dean’s eyes were getting as he took in everything around him. Castiel gave a cursory scan of the room, and felt that at first glance, it looked like a pretty normal dance club. There were men and women, and while they were all dressed in assorted fashions, none of them looked out of place. Though, if you looked closer, you started to notice things, like the women dancing with women, and men sitting closer than was absolutely necessary, even for noise purposes, and, of course, the drag queens. 

 

Dean looked at him, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Castiel cut him off, “Drinks. I’ll be right back. Just stay here so we don’t lose our table.” He heard Dean call his name as he started toward the bar, but he refused to look back. He was desperate for a smoke, but was steadfastly trying to avoid it for Dean’s sake. He definitely hadn’t thought this all the way through. He had never felt particularly uncomfortable at the club, and it hadn’t occurred to him until it was too late that Dean might.

“What’ll it be, handsome?” The bartender’s voice was smooth as velvet, and one Castiel definitely recognized. 

  “Meg.”

“Clarence. Long time, no see. What brings you here tonight? Lonely-heart drinking, as usual?” 

Castiel scowled, “I told you not to call me that. And no, I’m… with a friend. So I need two beers.”

“I don’t know. I think you have the same unrelenting optimism. That, and the eyebrows.” Meg raised her brows as she grabbed two beer glasses and held them up to inspect them, “A friend? Of Dorothy? Color me surprised. I didn’t know you had it in you. Let’s see how your taste is. Point him out.” 

Meg had been the first person he had met when he had found the Carnation Club, and she had vouched for him after only exchanging a few words. He wouldn’t say they were friends, but something close with fewer strings attached. She mostly just gave him a hard time whenever he decided to show up, and stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong.  

“He’s just a friend,” Castiel insisted, though he didn’t feel entirely convincing as he said it. “He’s...over there,” he turned and pointed to where Dean was sitting at the table, though he was a little surprised to see that Dean was no longer alone. He had been joined by an older guy, probably in his thirties, neatly dressed, and with his hair parted to one side. The complete opposite of the sort of guys Castiel hung around. His arm was along the back of Dean’s chair, and he was extremely focused on whatever it was that Dean was saying. 

Meg let out a low whistle as she set his beers on the counter, “Not bad at all, Clarence. He’s not really my type, but objectively, quite the catch. You might want to hurry along before he ends up in Maurice’s net though.” 

Castiel quickly paid for their drinks and then headed toward the table with one in each hand. Jealousy had been an almost foreign emotion to Castiel before Dean came along. However, jealousy was exactly what he felt when he approached the table and heard Dean laugh, at what Castiel thought was the tail end of an awful joke.

For a moment, Castiel stood there awkwardly while Maurice got to sit closer to Dean than he had any business being. He hadn’t noticed from the bar, but the man was greying at the temples. He was sure someone probably thought it looked distinguished, but right now, Castiel just thought it made him look old. Closer to his forties than his thirties. 

“Cas, you made it back. I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost,” Dean smiled at him and his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way that always made Castiel a little weak. 

No wonder Maurice had swooped in.           

Castiel cleared his throat and set their beers on the table, “I ran into a friend.” He sat on Dean’s other side, though with a slightly more respectable distance between them than what Maurice had given him. “It looks like you made a new one while I was gone,” he tried not to sound like he couldn’t stand the thought of Dean meeting anyone else, but right then, he really didn’t feel like he could.  

“Yeah. Cas, this is Maurice. Maurice, Cas. I was just telling you about him,” he touched Castiel’s shoulder lightly when he introduced him.

That was something, right? Dean couldn’t have been talking to the guy for more than a couple of minutes, and he had already mentioned him, so that was promising. 

“Ah. I see. Pleasure,” Maurice’s tone was clipped, and he offered his hand in a way that said meeting Castiel was the exact opposite of a pleasure. 

Castiel shook it, and Maurice withdrew his almost before the handshake had finished. An awkward silence followed in its wake, in which Maurice took a sip of the martini he had in front of him, and Castiel was already convinced that this had all the makings of a long night. He hadn’t really been alone with Dean since the night Anna had come over to tear him a new one, and while maybe he had made a mistake in thinking he could keep Dean all to himself in a place like  _ this _ when he looked like  _ that _ , Maurice had never been part of the equation.   

Dean reached over and took a deep drink of his beer before he spoke again, “Do I get to meet your friend? I didn’t realize you were a regular here.” 

Part of Castiel was pleased Dean had chosen to speak to him rather than picking up whatever conversation he’d been having with Maurice, and part of him wondered if the terseness in Dean’s voice was because he was actually uncomfortable, and doing his best to tolerate the place for Castiel’s sake. 

“She’s the bartender,” Castiel told him. “We’re not that close.”

“Meg’s not that close to anyone,” Maurice chimed in. “She’s frigid. Or so I hear. Our interests don’t exactly align. She’s your type?” 

Maurice had a loftiness to his voice that Castiel didn’t like, and he scowled at him while Dean took another drink. “No, I wouldn’t say that. Why exactly are you here?”

Dean’s brows lifted from over his glass, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he set it back on the table. “C’mon, Cas, don’t be like that. He just saw me sitting alone and came over to make sure I wasn’t having a bad time.” Dean patted his shoulder in a decidedly buddy-like fashion, which only served to further agitate Castiel. 

Maurice’s thin lips curled into a smug little smile. “That’s exactly right. Imagine my surprise when he told me he was here with a  _ friend _ . I could hardly believe anyone would want to leave him alone for any length of time.” He shifted a bit closer to Dean, and Castiel debated the merits of stabbing him. 

He didn’t usually go looking for trouble, but you didn’t wind up in the Garrison without at least a little of the lack of self-preservation it took to willingly participate in street fights and chicken races. A few years ago, he might have foregone considering it in favor of actually doing it. 

The band started up with a rendition of “Hound dog,” which had much of the crowd cheering their delight and rushing the dance floor.

Maurice lifted the skewered olive out of his martini glass and examined it with casual interest before he looked back at Dean with interest Castiel recognized as significantly more than casual, “Do you jitterbug, Dean?” 

Dean chuckled nervously, “Uh, no, not really much of a dancer. Sorry.” He swallowed the rest of his beer and ran his hands along his thighs. 

“Let me teach you? Promise I’m a good instructor,” Maurice smiled, and then, in what was potentially the lewdest display Castiel had ever seen in public, sucked the olive into his mouth. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He got up and pulled Dean to his feet, “Come on, don’t get shy on me now.”

Dean looked a little helpless, but allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, at which point he reached down and took a swig of Castiel’s still untouched beer, before he followed Maurice out to the dance floor.   

It had taken everything in Castiel not to tug Dean right back into his seat and glare daggers at Maurice until he took a hint. Violence was just below the surface, but he also wasn’t especially keen on getting them kicked out of the club before he had even managed to buy Dean his second drink. The fact of the matter was that he had done this to himself. And, on top of it all, it wasn’t like he had any claim to Dean. If he wanted to go jitterbug with a creepy old queen like Maurice, then that was his business. Castiel had only agreed to buy him drinks. Neither of them had specified what that entailed. He’d been an idiot to think this time would be anything like it had been before. Besides, if Dean really did have a girl hidden away somewhere, then he should feel fairly secure in the fact that Maurice didn’t have much of a chance either. Then again, whether it had been under emotional circumstances or not, Dean had already proven that kissing men was not something he was entirely opposed to.

Castiel took a miserable drink of the beer Dean had left behind, and watched from afar as Maurice coaxed Dean into moving his feet and twisting his hips. If he had anything going for him, it was that he seemed not to be concerned what anyone might think of his forwardness. If Dean made a misstep, Maurice corrected him with a hand to the waist, or by spinning him in such a way that would shake off the mistake.  

“Could be you dancing with him, you know.” Meg settled two new glasses of beer in front of Castiel.   

Castiel tore his eyes away from Dean long enough to look up at her, “I’m not interested in jive. Aren’t you supposed to be manning the bar?” 

Meg arched a brow and crossed her arms over her chest, “I’m on a break, and you looked like you could use a little help. You’re interested in blondie over there, though, aren’t you? My suggestion is to grab the bull by the horns, or by the… you know… and have some fun. You’re wound too tight.”

The music changed, and Castiel downed the rest of his beer so he didn’t have to watch Maurice and Dean any longer. If it were as easy as Meg made it sound, he’d have had Dean five times over by now. It wasn’t that easy. And even if he could have Dean, even just for the night, there was the aftermath to consider. “I’m not wound tight. I just think I shouldn’t have brought him here. I didn’t think it through. He’s not... like us,” he finished lamely. 

Meg sighed and rolled her eyes before picking up the empty glasses, “Look, Castiel, I don’t know what your deal is with him, but I have eyes. He might not be interested in  _ Maurice _ , but he’s interested. He hasn’t run screaming from here, or tried to brutalize anyone. He looks like he’s having fun to me. Might as well take advantage of his good humor.” She walked off without waiting for him to respond. 

Castiel looked back at the dancefloor, where it did seem like Dean was having a good time. He seemed to be getting into the dancing, and somehow, the top few buttons on his shirt had managed to come undone, which made him look a little more rough around the edges than he had before. It made sense—he was always listening to the radio—Castiel doubted he had had been telling the truth when he said he couldn’t jitterbug. Maurice was still there, but Castiel couldn’t imagine him going anywhere as long as Dean seemed to be all right having him around. 

He’d half made up his mind to join them on the dancefloor—though he _ actually _ couldn’t dance—when he realized Maurice was leading Dean off of it. It might have been a promising turn of events if he had been leading him back to the table instead of one of the nearest curtained booths.  

Castiel had been to the Carnation Club enough times to know exactly what Maurice had in mind. There was only one thing those booths were used for, and he was not about to let it happen between Maurice and Dean. He wasn’t really sure if it was jealousy or rage that was fueling him as he weaved between dancers toward the booth Maurice and Dean had disappeared into. It wasn’t as though the thought hadn’t crossed his mind when he had come here with Dean, but he had pushed it firmly away, and forced himself not to think any thoughts that could potentially get him in trouble. But here Maurice was, completely out of nowhere, and clearly angling to get Dean into bed, which he looked like he was well on his way to doing. And whether or not Dean was all right with it, Castiel certainly was not. If he wanted to dance or drink with other people, that was his business, but Castiel drew the line at watching him climb into bed with someone else. If nothing else, cheating wasn’t something Castiel was on board with, and he wouldn’t play accomplice any more than he already had to Dean doing it.  

He had to do some shoving, but he finally made it to the booth, and he felt like he had a hurricane in his chest as he ducked through the curtains. The booths were made so that there was enough space for several people to use a semi-circle style, cushioned, bench seat with a small table in the center. 

Castiel had learned to assess his surroundings quickly, because anything less could get you killed in the wrong situation, and he noted the couple that had been necking at one end before his eyes fell on Maurice, who had his arm across the back of Dean’s seat again. It looked like maybe he had set himself up to casually let his fingers brush against Dean’s neck or shoulder. They were hip to hip, and Dean looked a little out of breath, mildly uncomfortable, and maybe a little surprised to see him. His top buttons were still open, and revealed the uppermost skin of his chest—he was endlessly beautiful—and Castiel wanted to strangle him for following Maurice into the booth at all. 

Maurice mostly looked irritated. 

“Out.” Castiel didn’t bother looking at them, but the other couple knew that he meant them, and they collected themselves and stumbled their way out of the booth without argument. Castiel was aware of exactly how dangerous he could look when he got the mind for it. It was one of the reasons he worked so well as Anna’s second. He was generally quiet and unassuming, but if crossed, he wouldn’t hesitate to use force where needed. 

“Cas,” Dean breathed. His eyes were wide, and to his credit, he sat up a little straighter, like maybe he could sense that this was not Castiel’s usual temperament

Maurice was a little more difficult to read, though smugness came off of him in waves, and it took a level of restraint Castiel hadn’t known he possessed not to throttle him right there. 

“Kind of you to join us. Dean and I were just taking a breather.” He settled his hand against the side of Dean’s neck, “I’m not as young as I used to be, and he can cut quite a rug. He’s a bit of tease, saying he didn’t know how to dance. Not all of those moves were amateur.”

Dean chuckled and shifted, though it was closer to a nervous cough than the full-bodied laugh that usually washed over and made a puddle of Castiel.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, “You aren’t doing yourself any favors. I’ll give you one chance. If you leave now, we can forget you were ever here.” 

Maurice still looked unfazed, and even leaned forward a bit when he spoke, “Darling, if I ran every time I was threatened by some hooligan, I’d be married with three kids by now. If I leave, I’m taking your boy with me. Clearly, you haven’t been able to  _ satisfy _ him.” Maurice’s free hand slipped between Dean’s thighs, and Dean gasped and nearly squirmed right out of his seat.

Castiel moved almost without thinking. He was lighting quick, and had Maurice’s wrist above his head and bent at an unnatural angle in the span of a blink. Maurice’s facade finally broke, and he cried out while Castiel continued to hold his wrist, and Dean shimmied his way out of the booth. 

“Are you insane?! Let go of me!”

“You should learn to show some respect. Let me teach you. Promise I’m a good instructor.” Castiel parroted Maurice’s earlier words to Dean to let him know exactly why he planned on punishing him so thoroughly for his transgression. If he hadn’t tried to assert his own dominance in the situation, Castiel would have been true to his word and let him go. He would have been happy enough to pretend it had never happened, and spent the rest of the night drinking with Dean. However, there had been a very thin layer of self-control between that offer and violence by the time he had gotten to them because Maurice hadn’t been at all shy or discreet about his intentions toward Dean.

“Let go of me! Dean-!” Maurice’s plea tapered into a wince when Castiel exerted a little more pressure on his wrist.

“Remember that I warned you,” Castiel told him, his voice measured. He twisted his hand, and there was the feel of bone grinding against bone beneath his fingers as he started to slowly break Maurice’s wrist. 

Dean grabbed his shoulder. “Cas, don’t. Let’s just go, man. It’s fine.”

Castiel looked from Maurice, whose face was twisted in pain, to Dean, who looked almost shame-faced, and back again, before he finally released him. A moment later, and Maurice would have been in need of a trip to the hospital. 

Maurice cradled his wrist and and breathed heavily, “You’re a lunatic,” he hissed. “Should keep him under lock and key if you’re so damn jealous.”          

Castiel turned and left rather than follow through with assaulting Maurice in spite of Dean. He had nearly lost it for a moment. He needed to get out. He needed to smoke an entire deck of Luckies. He needed to figure out how pull himself together. 

He fought through the crowd again, this time even less concerned with who he bumped into or shoved as he went. By the time he made it to the brown-eyed doorman, he had a cigarette in his mouth and was patting around for his lighter, while he waited for him to let him out again.    

He practically stumbled into the alley once he was let out, and he still hadn’t managed to fish his lighter out of his pocket. He raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath through his nose before he reached for it again, only by the time he got it out, the club door had opened and shut again, and Dean was in the alley with him. 

“Cas, what the hell, man? Are you okay?” 

Castiel pulled his fingers through his hair again, and shoved his lighter back in his pocket without lighting his cigarette. Another deep breath through his nose, and then he was pacing. 

He needed Dean to not be here right now. 

He pulled his cigarette from between his lips in a frustrated motion, and tucked it behind his ear, “Go back inside, Dean.” He wished his bike was closer. 

“Why would I do that? You’re out here. Would you just… why are you pacing like that? Can you cool it for two minutes so we can talk?” 

“I’m pacing because I want desperately to be smoking right now, but you followed me out here, and I’m doing my best not to do it with you near,” Castiel’s voice was all restrained frustration, and he could feel the tension all the way down his spine. He couldn’t believe he had been such an idiot. Why couldn’t he have just taken Dean to the same bar they had gone to before? Or better yet, one in Garrison territory, so that he wouldn’t have to worry about getting stabbed or having Anna chew him out for being reckless. It had been a terrible mistake to bring Dean to the Carnation Club—he hardly went there himself—he had just been so desperate to have time with him, that he hadn’t even thought through what consequences might arise if Dean was uncomfortable or garnered the kind of attention Maurice had been so plain in giving him. 

He glanced at Dean, who looked like he had been brought up a little short by his admission, and who looked even more spectacular under the glow of street lights than he had inside the club. His collar was still open, and Castiel pulled his eyes skyward so he wouldn’t have to look anymore. He had nearly broken a man’s wrist for that open collar. He had no doubt Maurice had been the one who had opened it, given how handsy he was. 

“Why did you bring me here?” Dean’s voice gave nothing away, but there was a little wrinkle between his brows. “You had to know what it was. You said you’ve been before. We could have gotten drinks anywhere.”

That was the exact opposite question Castiel wanted Dean to ask him just then. He didn’t have a good answer for that. At least not one that didn’t make him sound like he was as gone on Dean as he was.  

Castiel finally gave up his pacing and looked Dean in the eyes. “Yes, Dean. We could have gotten drinks anywhere. But I’m what you’d call ‘light in the loafers,’ and this isn’t a place I get to come very often or with other people I know. I just didn’t realize you were so keen on switching out Mary for Maurice or I might have brought you along sooner.” It was a little mean-spirited, but it was also as close to the truth as Castiel was willing to get for the time being. He had never been so insanely jealous in his life, and he hated that it was having this effect on him. 

Initially, Dean didn’t have much of a reaction, just that sort of adorable puppy look Castiel liked to see on him when he was processing new information. But almost without warning, his expression hardened, “Mary? What are you talking about?”

Castiel shut his eyes and drew in another deep breath, “You don’t think your sweetheart would be interested in knowing that you spent half the night getting felt up by some geezer? Of course, you never talk about her, so maybe she wouldn’t be all that surprised.”

The wrinkle between Dean’s brows deepened, “My sweetheart…? Cas, I don’t have any… Mary is my mother’s name, but...I don’t talk about her because she’s dead. It’s… not something I go out of my way to bring up.” 

Castiel’s face went blank. “I saw the handkerchief in your tool box.” There was no way he had been wrong all this time, thinking Dean had a girl holed away somewhere. Besides, if it wasn’t Mary, then Anna was still a very willing and viable option for him. It didn’t change anything.

It was Dean’s turn to sigh, though his seemed to be more exasperated than irritated, “That tool box was my dad’s back when he could actually make it through a shift. That handkerchief was my mom's and he always kept it in there. Always kept one with him, even when he shipped out. I couldn’t bring myself to take it out. Look, I don’t even know why I’m explaining this to you. It has nothing to do with why you brought me here in the first place.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stepped a little closer to Castiel. “Was that whole thing just now really because you were jealous, like he said? Or is it something else?”

Castiel pressed his lips together and stared at Dean. It was all coming apart. He had no idea what would come next. The last place he had expected to have this conversation was in an alley outside an underground bar. In fact, he had never expected to have this conversation at all. He would have been perfectly all right to go on not talking to Dean about how much he wanted him, and if sometimes Dean needed to kiss him because he was sad, then they could do that and go on pretending that never happened too. It was simpler that way. Safer. Especially now that he apparently had no one tying him down. The moral implications were less terrible. 

Dean stepped closer, his eyes focused on Castiel's. "Cas, buddy, spell it out for me. You nearly broke that guy's wrist in there. I’ve never seen you look like that before."

"I warned him." Castiel ran his fingers along the seams of his jeans. He wished he hadn't made the decision to avoid smoking around Dean. No one stressed him out more. "He shouldn't have touched you like that. I'd have given him more than a broken wrist if you hadn't stopped me. I promised Sam I’d look out for you.” His eyes darted around the dark of the alley before they met Dean’s again, a lone street lamp the only source of illumination. He hadn’t realized how close they had gotten, and it unnerved him. 

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know. I can be fearsome." He knew it was true, but he heard the slight waver in his own voice when he said it. He didn’t feel fearsome, or even especially intimidating at the moment. Dean scared him. 

A group of three—two men and a woman—exited the club, arms linked, and laughing.  Dean looked over his shoulder at them before he turned his attention back to Castiel.

“It’s nothing I couldn’t have dealt with,” Dean told him quietly. “I don’t need you to defend my honor or look out for me. Maybe I don’t run around with hoods, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to take care of myself.” He didn’t sound offended or upset, just matter-of-fact. 

“I promised Sam. And we were supposed to be having fun together. Watching him harass you wasn’t my idea of fun.”

Dean quirked a brow and smirked, “You wanna give it another go? Night’s still young.” He tilted his head in the direction of the door, “If you think they’ll let us back in, I mean. Maurice might have reported you.”

Castiel’s expression darkened, “He hasn’t.” Maurice might have been a smug bastard, but Castiel didn’t think he was an idiot. Surely, he would be able to put together what Castiel could or would do to him if he decided to cause him any more trouble. And if he tried to go to the police, Castiel would have liked to see him try to explain away being at the Carnation Club at all. They’d march them both to jail, and laugh while they did it.  

Dean actually laughed then, “All right, tough guy. Come back in with me, then. You still owe me another drink. And I’m tacking on a dance for interest.” He grabbed the top of Castiel’s arm and led him back to the entrance, where he perfectly replicated the knock sequence Castiel had used to get them in earlier. He hadn’t known Dean had been paying attention.   

The window slid open again, and Dean grinned and held up two fingers, “Us again, pal. Back for round two. Just needed a little air.”

Even once they were back inside, Dean didn’t let go of Castiel, and when it looked as though their previous table had been taken in their absence, he grabbed a beer that had been left unattended on a nearby table, and downed half of it before handing the rest off to Castiel to finish.

“We’re accomplices, so if they kick one of us out, we’ll both have to go.” he flashed a smile and took the empty glass from Castiel to sit back down on the table, before leading him out to the dancefloor, which had grown a bit more crowded since Dean had left it. 

“All right,” Dean turned to face him, his voice raised over the music, “tell me you know how to dance.” 

Castiel felt pretty certain he was having a stroke, because moments ago he had been outside ready to have breakdown because Dean was pressing him on whether or not he was as wildly jealous as he seemed, and now they were sharing drink and about to dance together. It felt like his head was spinning, and he’d only had half a beer.

“I almost never dance,” he said, leaning in so that Dean could hear him. 

Dean grinned and shook his head, “You’re supposed to tell me that you ‘dance all the time,’ Cas. Okay, okay, just… follow my lead. Just do what feels good and I’ll take care of you.” 

And if that wasn’t just about the last thing he needed to hear from Dean right then. It was probably the only thing Dean could have said right then that would have gotten him to agree to dancing—that innocuous and provocative turn of phrase that always seemed to slip from Dean right when Castiel tended to feel things were slipping out of his control. He wasn’t sure what song the band was playing, but it sounded light, and Dean kept his dance moves fairly simple so he could follow along easily. It wasn’t something that felt particularly natural to him, but Dean looked like he was having a good time, and that made Castiel feel a little better about not knowing what he was doing and being hopeless enough to let Dean con him into dancing at all.

The music started to die down, and Castiel thought they might finally be able to retreat to a table, but his generally bad luck persisted even here.

 

“ **Bop bopa-a-lu a whop bam boo!** ” 

 

The band started up almost immediately, and everyone who was on the dancefloor went absolutely bonkers. They all seemed to know the song, and even more people took to the dancefloor, most of them moving wildly, as though they hadn’t a care in the world. Castiel found himself much closer to Dean than he had ever meant to be, but Dean didn’t seem to mind in the least. 

One of his arms looped around Castiel’s waist, while the other took his free hand, and then they were moving right along with everyone else. Dean looked just as ecstatic as the rest of the crowd, and was grinning from ear to ear. “Don’t you know Little Richard?” He had to practically shout in Castiel’s ear to be heard at this point, and before Castiel had time to answer, he spun him out and then pulled him back into his chest and dipped him. 

“Not personally,” Castiel told him as he steadied himself again. Dean laughed, and because he was pressed against his chest at the moment, Castiel felt the sound reverberate around his own body. “I’ve heard the song,” he said between breaths, as Dean had them resume their earlier positions, and put his hand back at Castiel’s waist. “Gabriel listens to a lot of music. I just didn’t realize it was so popular.”

“Little Richard is the bees’ knees, Cas. We gotta work on educating you!”

They continued to dance at the same frenetic pace as everyone around them, Dean occasionally manoeuvering them into more complicated steps or moves than Castiel would have ever accomplished on his own, and eventually the song ended. The number of people on the dancefloor dwindled as the energy started to die back down. For some inexplicable reason, Dean was still touching him. He wasn’t going to complain, but it made him anxious. He still really wanted to smoke, though he had actually forgotten that he wanted to while they had been dancing. There had been far too much going on in his head at the time. The night had not gone anything like he had expected so far, but it hadn’t really gone poorly except for the interaction with Maurice, and thanks to Dean, even that hadn’t quite gone off the rails.  

“C’mon, I’ll let you buy me that drink,” Dean patted his shoulder and then steered him toward the bar with a hand at the small of his back. 

Castiel could feel how damp his own shirt was under the pressure of Dean’s touch—he hadn’t had any clean undershirts left—and he could see the sweat that had beaded along Dean’s neck and temples. It was all he could do not to reach up and wipe it away for him. He didn’t know what it was about seeing Dean out of breath and covered in sweat that always managed to wind him up, but it was incredibly unfair. 

When they got to the bar, Meg set two drinks in front of them, almost before they asked, and winked when Castiel gave her a bewildered look. Dean drank from his glass immediately, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he tilted his head back and exposed the long line from his jaw to where his shirt opened over his collar bone. Castiel could hardly bring himself to look away. 

“You boys need me to start you a tab?” Meg asked, clearly amused.  

“No, we’re fine.” Castiel said quickly, and reached for his wallet to pay her. There was no telling what she would say if he gave her a reason to stick around.

“Suit yourself.” She drifted off to the next customer, and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief.

“So how’s round two? More fun than the first time?” Dean had set his beer aside and ran his hands down his thighs in such a way that Castiel could not help but look down. 

He put his elbow on the bar and covered his eyes with his hand, exasperated with himself, “I need a smoke.” 

Dean shook him by the shoulder, “No, what you  _ need _ is to loosen up. C’mon, drink up. You’ll feel better. Besides, I don’t like drinking alone.”

Castiel obliged and took a pull from his beer, though it didn’t do much to take the edge off wanting to smoke.

Dean chuckled, and then motioned to own lip before reaching over and wiping the foam from Castiel’s with his finger. It wasn’t a particularly intimate action, but Castiel’s hair stood on end as though it had been. He didn’t understand why or how Dean could touch him so casually, when Castiel did well just to look him in the eye. And even that came out of a determination not to be intimidated by his own emotions, rather than any sense of casualness between them. In a different life, one where he didn’t run with the Garrison or get into fights, he was sure he never would have gotten within fifty feet of Dean Winchester. He had always been quiet, a natural shyness that had evolved and manifested itself into stoicism when he started things up with Anna. He kept to himself and tended not to say much because inside he was bursting with emotion that he didn’t know how to express. Left untended, he wasn’t even certain that Anna would have stuck around for as long as she had, and he most definitely would never have befriended Sam and Dean. 

“You doin’ okay over there?” Dean drank again and then rested his chin in his hand. “Looks like the lights are on, but nobody’s home.”

Castiel shook his head, “No, I’m just...where’d you learn to dance? Didn’t know you were such an Oliver Twist.”

Dean grinned, “Why? Were you impressed?” 

Castiel felt his face warm and took another drink of his beer. “Can’t you ever give a straight answer?” he muttered. 

Dean shrugged and ran his hands down his thighs again.

Castiel wondered if it was unconscious or intentional. Either way, it wasn’t doing him any favors trying to keep his head on straight where Dean was concerned. He’d done it a few times that night, and Castiel hadn’t been able to keep himself from looking even once. 

“I like to dance. I might be a cube next to you, but I’ve spent enough time in clubs to pick up a few moves.”    

“That’s not what you told Maurice,” Castiel took another drink and made sure to wipe his own lip when he finished, though most of the foam had settled. He distinctly recalled Dean telling Maurice that he didn’t know how to dance, because he had hoped, in that moment, that Dean would stay and drink with him rather than slip away with Maurice. 

Dean cleared his throat and finished the last of his drink, “Maybe that’s because I didn’t  _ want _ to dance with him.” 

His voice was pointed, and Castiel got that feeling like he was unraveling again when he looked back at Dean. He didn’t want to think about what the implications of that statement were (that Dean  _ had _ wanted to dance with him), but his mind wouldn’t let it go. 

Dean shrugged again, like Castiel had asked him a question, even though he hadn’t. “He’s the kind of guy that won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, no matter what you say to him. So I went to dance with him thinking it would be easier just to get it over with. But then he pretended to be tired, practically dragged me into that booth. And then you showed up outta nowhere, ready to jump bad.” He chuckled a little and shook his head, like he couldn’t believe Castiel would do such a thing. 

“If I see him again, I still might. He wasn’t being subtle about what he was after.” He couldn’t fault Maurice for having wanted Dean—it was the pot calling the kettle black—but it was an entirely different story for him to try putting his hands on him the way he had.

“He thought we were together. Probably why he was being such a nosebleed once you came over.”

Castiel nearly choked on his beer and coughed before he was able to recover. “What?” he rasped. Dean was full of surprises tonight.    

“I know. He talked a lot, so I didn’t really say much to convince him otherwise. When he asked if I was on my own, I told him I came with you. Didn’t elaborate much, and he didn’t ask, so I guess it was a mutual thing.” He stretched his arms above his head and hopped off of his bar stool, “I think I’m ready to split if you are. Can we go back to your place for a while? I swear we’ll be totally even after that. I’m just not ready to go home. Sammy’s gone, and I’m the good kind of almost-drunk right now. Don’t wanna push my luck.”

If Dean had asked, Castiel would have let him stay at his apartment for another month, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he finished his beer, and then got up too. “Yeah, let’s go.” He wasn’t quite sure how it was that Dean seemed to be so adaptable, but he was glad for it. If it had been someone else, he imagined the night might have gone very differently thus far, and he doubted they’d have invited themselves back to his apartment for any reason ever again.

  
  
  
  


By the time they arrived at his apartment, Castiel was desperate for a cigarette. He thought he had done very well avoiding it until now, but he was back home, and he really hadn’t intended to go without smoking at all for so long. Even at the club, he had meant just to step out and do it while Dean stayed inside, but things hadn’t quite worked out that way. Riding had helped to take the edge off in the way Dean had suggested the beer might relax him, but once they were stopped again, he could feel the need rising in him. 

Once they were inside, he shrugged out of his jacket, and directed Dean to toss his things over the arm of the couch before he went to the refrigerator and took out a couple of beers he’d had shoved way in the back for when Anna or Gabe popped in unexpectedly. He opened them and handed one to Dean, who was fiddling with his radio again. It was ridiculous how he seemed to gravitate to music, like some sort of harmonic dowsing rod.  

“I’m going out to smoke,” he told him. “Make yourself comfortable. You know where everything is.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Dean took a swig of his beer, and then bent to mess with the radio until he found whatever station he was looking for. 

Castiel checked his pockets for his Luckies and lighter before he headed to the window and opened it so he could climb onto the fire escape. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed once he was finally alone again. He had no idea what he had been thinking taking Dean to the Carnation Club. He supposed that part of him just wanted Dean to know part of him that most other people didn’t. Even Anna didn’t know he visited the club sometimes. Not that it mattered. Meg had been right. He never did anything but have a few drinks and watch everyone else have a good time. He had been propositioned a time or two, but he never accepted. He’d been kissed before, and it was usually nice enough, but beyond that, he had limited experience. Making it to third base with just anyone didn’t really appeal to him as much as it probably should have. He certainly wasn’t any match for Gabriel, who seemed to have a different conquest every week, or even Inias who had been with the same girl since they had been in high school. He planned to marry her as far as Castiel knew, but he was the quiet sort, so even when he decided to make her his wife, none of them would probably know until they had jumped the broom and were on their way to the honeymoon. 

Marriage was definitely out of the question for Castiel. He’d had no interest in it even before he realized he’d had no interest in women. It hadn’t worked out for his parents, and he knew that it wasn’t something he needed to fulfill him in life. He had more or less resigned himself to being alone. Loneliness didn’t frighten him the way it did some other people, probably because he’d always had Anna and the Garrison to fall back on. If he needed to be surrounded by people, they were all there. Anna was his best friend. He didn’t think it was the same as being romantically linked to another person, but he knew they had his back, and he didn’t generally feel like he was missing out by not dating, so it didn’t bother him.  

He took a sip of his beer and then set it aside in favor of pulling his cigarettes out of his hip pocket. He tapped them twice against the palm of his hand, and then pulled one from the pack to put between his lips. Once he had it lit, leaned against the guard rail, and let his body sag, his arms draped over the side. The air was still hot, even though the sun had gone down a couple of hours ago. 

It sounded like Dean had settled on a station—most of the static was gone, and the song hadn’t changed for the last thirty seconds. He couldn’t have named the lonely crooner, but the song felt strangely personal, like he was singing right to him about his longing.

“Not gonna fly away, are you?” Dean’s voice was low and careful. 

Castiel glanced at him over his shoulder before turning to face him. “Not tonight.” He flicked ash from the tip of his cigarette. “I was trying to be considerate coming out here to do this,” he held it up before he placed it back between his lips, “Doesn’t work as well if you follow me out.”

“I’m not coming out there,” Dean said. His voice had pitched up an octave, and he shifted his weight back a little.  

Castiel knit his brows together and tilted his head as he realized that Dean hadn’t been on the fire escape at all, even while he and Sam had been staying there. Sam, on the other hand, had been out a few times, with and without Castiel. “You’re scared,” he said without hesitation. 

“I’m not… I don’t like heights. That’s all.”

Castiel blew smoke over his shoulder, away from Dean, still making the attempt to be courteous despite the fact that Dean seemed to want to make his life difficult lately. “I wouldn’t let you fall, so there’s nothing to be afraid of. But it’s probably best not to take the chance.” 

Dean stared up at him from the window, his eyes bigger than they should have been, and Castiel decided he wouldn’t push the issue. Sometimes it was best to leave fears to themselves. Pushing could just make it worse.

He had come out to smoke, and clear his head. He hadn’t intended on Dean following him out in the first place. He’d go back inside in a little while and they could talk or play cards until Dean felt like he was ready to go home. He turned back around to face the street again, both as a means of removing any pressure Dean might have felt about coming onto the escape, and to signal to him that he didn’t have any intention of moving until he had finished at least one cigarette. 

Less than a minute had gone by before he heard some shifting around, which he had assumed was Dean finally moving away from the window. He considered asking if he wanted him just to walk him to the shop to get his truck, so that he had the option to go home whenever he felt like it, rather than being stuck. They’d had a good time together, but he knew he wasn’t the most exciting person to be around, and even he could admit that he’d been sort of moody all night. He didn’t want Dean to feel like he was obligated to stick around because he had asked to come over. 

He turned to go poke his head back through the window to ask, and nearly ran smack into Dean’s chest. He grabbed his shoulder to steady them both and was reminded of how much Dean had touched him while they had been in the club.  

Dean looked a little uneasy, and he was definitely looking everywhere but down, but there was also something like determination in his face, and Castiel couldn’t help but find it a little bit endearing.

Castiel reached up to take his cigarette from his mouth and once again blew the smoke away from Dean. “You didn’t have to come out here. Like I said, I was trying not to do this around you.” 

“I wanted to, okay?” Dean sounded a little tetchy. 

Castiel figured it was his nerves and didn’t mention it. “All right. I don’t mind the company.” He leaned back against the rail again, more in an effort to put a little more space between them than anything, and placed his nearly finished cigarette back between his lips.      

He hadn’t even managed to take a full drag before Dean pulled it carefully from his mouth. If he hadn’t been so shocked, he probably would have protested. Or at very least, snatched it back and carried on smoking to make a point. It was one thing for Dean not to like smoking, it was another thing for him to think he could dictate whether or not Castiel finished his cigarettes. He had been trying to be considerate, but there were lines. 

Once he had it, even Dean didn’t look terribly certain about what to do with it, but he didn’t deliberate over it for long. Instead, he closed the space between them, the cigarette held carefully off to one side, while his mouth found Castiel’s. 

At first, Castiel couldn’t process what was happening. All he knew was that his Lucky was gone and it had been replaced by Dean. Dean’s free hand had come up to cradle his jaw, but aside from that, there was no contact between their bodies, so it was a little difficult to think that this wasn’t some daydream of his. It was too much and not enough all at once, and it took every ounce of self-control Castiel had to pull himself away from that kiss. 

“Dean…” he cast around for something comprehensible to say, “...we can’t…” That was really all he had, because he honestly couldn’t come up with a decent reason at the moment for why they couldn’t. Dean’s kiss alone was a compelling enough argument for why they not only  _ could  _ but  _ should.  _ Castiel wanted him to do it again and to let himself give into it, but the more rational part of his brain was fighting against it.  

“Why?” Dean asked quietly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for most of the night. Even if you do taste like an ashtray. I wouldn’t mind doing it again.” 

Castiel took his cigarette back from him, and tried to quiet his thudding heart so that he could think. He took a final drag and then put it out on the fire escape railing. 

“What about…” Castiel’s voice died in his throat, because he realized that he couldn’t use Dean’s mystery girl as an excuse anymore. She didn’t exist. He had said himself that he wasn’t going steady with anyone at the moment.  “It’s not… I’m not what you want,” he managed finally. “You’re just drunk.” He had wanted Dean so much for so long that he hadn’t really let himself consider what it might be like if Dean actually did want him in return. 

“Shouldn’t I get to decide that?” The irritation was back in his voice, and the nervousness he had displayed at being on the escape at all was almost nonexistent. “And I didn’t do it because I’m drunk. Christ, Cas.” He ran his hand over the back of neck, “Look, did I read this wrong? Do you not like me? I thought at the club when you said you were… and you took me there in the first place, so I thought it meant you maybe wanted this too. Your signals are all over the place, man. Jesus, I don’t know what to make of you.”     

Castiel scowled, “ _ My _ signals? I’m not giving any signals, Dean. I’ve worked exceptionally hard  _ not  _ to give any signals.”

Dean snorted disbelievingly, and Castiel felt his own irritation surface. 

“Dean, you’ve kissed me twice already, and neither time were you in a clear state of mind. We never talked about it. I just thought you were upset and needed…”  _ Me _ , he thought. He wanted to be needed by him. “...comfort. And at the club tonight, I was terrified I was going to scare you off by having brought you there. No one knows I go there. Instead, I find you getting chatted up within five minutes of being there, and just generally making life difficult for me because you don’t even know how gorgeous you are. It was like you fit there. Meanwhile, I’ve barely spoken to anyone in the handful of times I’ve been there. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Yeah? And whose fault was it that we never talked about it? You ran out of here like I’d burned you the first time. Yeah, I was having a tough time, and I just wanted to feel good for a while. You...you make me feel good. So I tried it again, and you shut me down again. You think I invite just anyone to hangout with me and Sammy? To Bobby’s?” 

Castiel had to admit he had a point there. He hadn’t given them much space to talk about it. But it was only because he thought Dean would be better off. And because it all terrified him. As much as he wanted to just let himself have this, have whatever it was that Dean was offering right now, he knew that it put Dean at risk. Especially now. Especially with him. If there was some sort of war brewing, and as far as Anna and the others were concerned, there was, anyone close to any of them might be targeted. And with Castiel being a significant figurehead in the Garrison, the people closest to him were most at risk. Striking at him or Anna would not only be a physical blow, but a blow to the morale of the group. It was bad enough to worry about Anna, but at least he knew she could take care of herself. She had chosen to be a part of it. Dean hadn’t. 

Dean was trembling. It would have easy to dismiss it as a result of his irritation, but Castiel realized it was because he was still frightened of being out on the fire escape. He hadn’t wanted to come onto it all, but he had, seemingly, in order to kiss him. And now they were arguing because Castiel couldn’t just accept a good thing when he had it. He sighed heavily and touched Dean’s wrist, “Let’s talk about this inside, all right? The neighbors will hear.” 

Dean visibly relaxed and nodded. 

Castiel grabbed his hand then, and bent to grab his own drink before he carefully led Dean back through the window of his apartment.  

Once they were both safely inside, Castiel dropped onto his sofa and leaned over to pull his boots off. “I do like you Dean. More than I should. It’s why I took you to the Carnation Club, and why I can’t do this with you.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Cas? What does that even mean? I want you, you want me, seems pretty simple to me. Why are you making it hard?”

“Because it is hard, Dean! All of it is hard. I’ve never wanted anyone like I’ve wanted you, and the Garrison has already gotten in a twist just with the amount of time I’ve been spending with you and Sam lately. I know you don’t get it, but there are rules, specific ways things are done, and I can’t just walk away from it all. They won’t let me. And even though I think I might want to, I don’t know what I’d do without them. They’re all I have. When I lost my family, the Garrison is what I had. Anna is who I had.”

“I’m not asking you to abandon them,” Dean said as he came over and sat down next to him. “I’m just asking you to consider what we could be. Just you and me. For now.” He brought his hand to the side of Castiel’s face and then leaned in to kiss him again. His mouth was soft, and the kiss was brief, a question.

Castiel answered. 

As certain as he was that he’d pay for it later, he was tired of fighting his attraction to Dean. He was tired of bearing it alone. If Dean wanted to help him carry it, then he’d let him.  _ For now. _ Their lips met again, this time on Castiel’s initiation. It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was the first kiss Castiel had decided to let himself genuinely reciprocate. His hand came up to rest against Dean’s neck, and Dean leaned in, while his hand slid up Castiel’s thigh to his hip, until Castiel eventually pulled away from him. He pressed their foreheads together, his eyes closed as he tried to sort himself out.  

“You really think I’m ‘gorgeous’?” Dean sounded amused. 

Castiel sighed. He could just imagine the stupid grin Dean had on his face. “As the day is long. I believe Anna described you as a ‘real flutter bum.’”  

“You talk about me with Anna?” Definitely grinning. 

Castiel opened his eyes, sat up, and frowned a little, “If your head gets any bigger you’ll float away. Before she found out I was spending all of my time with you and Sam, it was only in passing to say how good-looking she thought you were. I’m surprised you two hadn’t already made it in the back of the shop. She’s not exactly shy when it comes to that sort of thing.” His scowl deepened as he tried to push the image away.  

Dean’s grin hadn’t faded and he hadn’t removed his hand from Castiel’s thigh. “Castiel, do you have a jealous streak? Underneath that quiet tough-guy routine, you’re just massively jealous of anyone who looks my way?” 

He sounded like he was teasing, but Castiel wasn’t about to admit to that. He’d been jealous of Anna because he thought she’d had a chance with Dean when he didn’t. It had been the same with Maurice. Dean had stumbled onto that, much the same way, he had stumbled into the realization that Dean was afraid of coming out onto the fire escape, so he supposed they were even, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to preserve his own dignity. 

“It wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t so damn charming all of the time,” he meant it to sound less like a compliment than it had, but he realized that he had been wholly unsuccessful as soon as it came out.  

“Gorgeous  _ and  _ charming. Please, do go on. I like jealous you,” Dean smirked and leaned in, his expression teetering on smug. 

Castiel leaned back in attempt to maintain his dignity, but there was only so far he could go on the couch, and  eventually, he just ended up half reclined with Dean kissing him. 

If someone had told him years, or even months ago, that this is where his night would have gone, he would have said they’d had a few loose screws. Even the first couple of times after he’d kissed Dean, it hadn’t felt anything close to real. It was like he was playing pretend or like someone else had borrowed his body and taken it for a joyride. He hadn’t let himself enjoy it because he had been so shaken up about what it would mean if he did. But now he had Dean on top of him, solid and real, and  _ gorgeous _ , and, just for now, maybe just for tonight, he was going to let himself enjoy it. 

The radio was still playing in the background, and as Dean kissed his way down his neck, and Castiel let his fingers explore the sensation of Dean’s crew cut beneath them, he vaguely wondered if Dean had somehow planned all of this. It was an oddly romantic thought for him, and it hit him as Dean tugged his shirt free from his jeans, that at some point Dean had to have realized he liked him too. He opened his mouth to ask about it, but it was the exact moment that Dean’s fingers found their way under his shirt, and to his skin, and his question became more of a gasp.  

Dean sat back on his knees, but didn’t remove his hands from under Castiel’s shirt. “Is this okay? We can stop,” he said seriously.     

Castiel took a deep breath and sat up on his elbows to look at him, “I’m fine, just… surprised.” 

Dean didn’t look entirely convinced, and so he sat up and wound his arms around Dean’s neck. He kissed him once, slowly, and he felt Dean’s grip tighten just a little around his waist.

“If you knew how much I’ve wanted you, you wouldn’t even think about stopping,” he told him. “But I wouldn’t mind leveling the playing field.” He let his hands slide down to the buttons on Dean’s shirt, and once he couldn’t unbutton any farther, mimicked Dean, and tugged the fabric free from the waistband of his jeans. Dean’s shirt fell open, and Castiel slid his hands upwards from his stomach to his chest.    

Dean pulled his hands from beneath Castiel’s shirt and shrugged out of his own before he helped Castiel out of his. For a moment, they both just looked at each other. He could hardly believe he was in this position with Dean after having wanted him for so long, and simply looking at him seemed enough for the moment. 

Dean reached out to touch him, and Castiel grabbed his hand and pressed it against his own heart. He wanted him to understand what exactly he was doing to him, how he was equal parts excited and anxious. 

“Cas…” Dean searched his face as his hand splayed over Castiel’s thudding heart. 

“Dean, kiss me before I lose my nerve.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He gave Castiel a soft peck before kissing him more deeply. 

Castiel’s eyes drifted close, and he let himself melt under the solid weight of him. 

  
  
  


They didn’t make it back to the garage that night. They kissed and felt each other up, and shed their trousers, but didn’t take it any further. Always teetering somewhere between passionate and teasing. It wasn’t something they discussed, but when things slowed down, it felt natural. Castiel discovered that Dean liked to use his teeth in the places that Castiel was most sensitive, and that a well-timed compliment was almost as effective at disarming Dean as any kiss. 

He didn’t know how long they had spent kissing and touching, but at some point, Dean got up to use the toilet, and Castiel got up to turn out the lights and smoke. He let the radio play, and by the time Dean returned, he was laying on the couch again. 

Dean climbed on top of him and wedged himself between Castiel and the back of the couch, which really wasn’t made for two fully grown men to lay on. It didn’t matter though. Castiel was comfortable, and Dean didn’t seem inclined to complain. They were both still in their undershorts, and the breeze from the open window was a nice contrast against the heat of their bodies. 

“Are you going to regret this in the morning?” Dean’s voice sounded far away, despite the fact that his head was on Castiel’s chest. “You didn’t run off this time, but are you gonna spend the next week avoiding me, like you did before?” 

That stung a little, but Castiel couldn’t fault him for it. He had avoided being around Dean alone for any length of time the last time they had kissed. He had been too frightened of what would happen if they found themselves alone together again, and he hadn’t thought he was capable of expressing what it meant to him to have Dean kiss him at all without scaring him off entirely. Particularly when he had thought Dean was technically taken. 

“I can’t look out for you if I’m avoiding you, Dean. And I promised Sam that I would.” 

Castiel felt him laugh, and that warm feeling he usually got when Dean laughed or smiled at him bloomed in his chest, as usual. 

“Guess that’s true.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss against Castiel’s skin. “I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

Castiel traced patterns into the skin of Dean’s muscled back, and tried not to think about what any of what they had just done meant. What it made them to each other or anyone else. There was a lot he wanted to ask Dean, a lot he wanted to talk to him about now that he didn’t need to focus so much of his energy on hiding his desire for him. But it could wait. All of it could wait.  _ For now _ , he had Dean in his arms, and whatever happened when morning came would be something they could look at together.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they're...kind of a thing? Hooray! 
> 
> This was a long chapter! Almost twice as long as the previous ones.
> 
> Chapter title is "Chances Are" by Johnny Mathis. I really like the song and think the message fits well with Castiel's feelings toward Dean. Other songs featured in this chapter are "That'll be the Day" by Buddy Holly and the Crickets, "Hound Dog" by Elvis Presley, "Tutti Frutti" by Little Richard, and I imagined that the song that Castiel hears while smoking on the fire escape is Les Baxter's version of "Unchained Melody" which was pretty popular the year before, in 1955. 
> 
> A note about the "Carnation Club": By the time the 50s hit, in America, at least, it really wasn't cool to be any flavor of lgbt+ Gay clubs, which had actually garnered a fair amount of popularity in the late 20's and early 30's were strictly policed, and many people caught in establishments that catered to the gay and trans communities were jailed and/or beaten. I wanted to get away from the heaviness of the oppression that was occurring at this time, but still maintain the "integrity" of the time period. So, I came up with the Carnation Club, which is an entirely fictional bar, but still clandestine because of all the above reasons. Again, I wanted to avoid writing a lot of bigotry or racism or anything like that for the sake of "historical accuracy," but wanted to make it clear that the oppression is somewhat present, whether or not it's overt. Hopefully, that came across here. I'm not super interested in the political aspect of Castiel or Dean's sexualities, and am more interested in how they deal with one another and the people close to them with regards to this. 
> 
> There will be more discussion about Dean's history and side of things a little later, so if you're missing that, fear not! It wasn't as relevant to Castiel's story before they got together. Also probably more gang politics. 
> 
> That might be it? I feel like I used a lot of italics in this chapter, but I *needed* it.
> 
> Oh! Rating is still currently T... I'm thinking at some point, it might inch up to M... but we shall see. There's a scene I'd like to write that would, I think, push it into M territory, but sometimes we have to kill our darlings, so I might not get to go there.  
> Life is still happening for me, so as always, thanks for your patience, thank you for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed everything so far~


	7. Close to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddles. And a dash of angst.

Dean wanted them to eat in their underwear.

They had fallen asleep on the couch together, and Castiel awoke, over-warm, sticky, and stiff. It couldn’t have been any later than nine, and he could already feel that the day was going to be sweltering. Dean was still pressed against him, his head tucked against his neck, and apparently slept soundly enough despite the heat.

Castiel wanted to peel himself off of the couch and get up, maybe wash-up, maybe smoke, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb Dean when he seemed so comfortable. Instead, he lay there and stared at the ceiling. The night before already felt like it had happened days, rather than hours ago, and part of him was glad that Dean wasn’t awake yet. He didn’t know what they would be once he opened his eyes, and since he had promised Dean he wouldn’t run away from this again, he had no way of preemptively defending himself.

What happened if Dean changed his mind? What if he realized that he had made a mistake, or that he had just been feeling lonely again? Sam was gone, and he hadn’t wanted to go home, so it would have been a short leap. And it wasn’t as though they had been drinking a lot, but Castiel knew how easy it was to pass off any perceived transgression as the fault of alcohol. If that happened, then he would be left holding his feelings in his hands, exposed, with no way to put them away again. He had whispered how much he wanted him, how long he had spent wanting him, between kisses that night, and there was no coming back from that.   

Castiel closed his eyes again, and eventually, Dean shifted against him. He seemed slow to wake, and he shifted and sighed until he finally pressed a kiss to Castiel’s stubbly jaw, and then dropped his head back onto his chest. Castiel opened his eyes again, a little surprised that Dean had kissed him at all, let alone before he said anything else.

“You awake?” Dean asked around a yawn.

“Yeah, for a while. You sleep like the dead.”

“Mm. Takes a lot outta me to be gorgeous and charming all night. I need my beauty sleep.”

Castiel felt himself blush. He was never going to live down having said those things if the smugness in Dean’s voice was anything to go by. “Well, I need to piss, and you’re pressing on my bladder,” he told him flatly. “I should also probably shave and get dressed.” Even though those things were true, he almost didn’t want to move. He hadn’t expected Dean to be so affectionate upon waking, and suffering minor discomfort seemed preferable to breaking that spell. “You can borrow clothes again if you want,” he added softly.

Dean lifted his head to look at him, “Don’t get dressed yet. Just stay in your undershorts. I’ll make breakfast, and we can eat in here by the window, okay?”

Castiel couldn’t help being a little amused by the idea, but didn't want to admit it. “You don’t have to make me breakfast, Dean.” No one had done that for him with any regularity since his grandmother had died. Cold cereal was his usual meal of choice if he felt inclined to sit down to have breakfast by himself.

“Please? It’ll be fun. I promise.”

Castiel sighed, already defeated. Dean had no idea just how weak he was for him.

Dean grinned and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before getting up and going down the hall to the bathroom, “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll have something ready.”

Castiel lay on the couch for a minute more as he fought off a smile before he got up to turn off the radio, which had gone from static to a re-run of Unshackled!, and was significantly less romantic than whatever it was that Dean had them listening to the night before. He climbed out onto the fire escape again and waved to Mrs. Harris, two doors down, while he stuck a cigarette in his mouth. She had lived there since he had been a boy, and he sometimes moved things for her or picked up her groceries if the weather was bad. She waved back, apparently undisturbed, or too old to be scandalized, by his near nudity. He didn't think there was much that bothered her in general. That was the good thing about living in a building full of mostly old people. Most of them didn’t care what he did, and were too old not to want to look the other way if he did something questionable.

He toyed with the lid on his zippo.

Dean Winchester had kissed him. The thought made him grin, and he hid his face behind his arm as he ran his fingers through his hair. It stuck up at odd angles now, as a result of the small amount of pomade he had used in it the night before. Despite the fact that nothing catastrophic had happened between them once Dean woke, it still didn’t feel like something he was allowed to believe or have.  

He lit up and glanced over his shoulder when he heard Dean begin banging around his small kitchen.

He’d never spent the night with another man before—not when it had involved kissing or touching, and though they hadn’t done anything too heavy, it felt to Castiel as though he had accomplished some sort of milestone.

He wondered if Dean had ever done anything like that before. And then the uncontrollably jealous part of him wanted to know with whom, if he had. He remembered Dean’s teasing, his ‘I like jealous you,’ and he dropped his head in embarrassment. Christ, he was gone on him.

They would need to talk. He knew that. If they didn’t, it would be too easy to go on pretending that nothing had changed or happened between them. Dean seemed open to the idea of… whatever this had the potential of being, but not wanting to be left alone after the fact, and talking about feelings were two different things. Even Sam had said that Dean didn’t like to admit that he had them. And Castiel had seen him clam up almost as often as he rambled. Once the afterglow wore off, maybe after breakfast, there was no telling whether or not Dean would actually want to...hell, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like they could go around telling everyone they were going steady or anything, and he still had the Garrison to think about. Whatever it was between them, he wasn’t sure it would make a bit of difference when it came right down to the way they lived their lives. At the end of the day, Dean was unattainable for him, and it wasn’t just because he had to visit the Carnation Club whenever he got to feeling a little lonely.

He finished his cigarette and climbed back through the window so he could use the toilet and clean himself up a little. Just because Dean wanted them to eat in their underwear didn’t mean he couldn’t make himself half way decent.

By the time he came out of the bathroom again, Dean had turned the radio back on and found something that wasn’t _Unshackled!_ to listen to. The floor by the window had been made up with two couch cushions, and the coffee table, which had been pulled over from its usual spot in front of the sofa.  

When he noticed Castiel, Dean smiled at him from over his shoulder, “Five minutes, okay? Can you pour the coffee and take it over there?”

 Castiel pulled two mugs from the cabinet and did as he was told. “How do you take it?” He usually drank his black, but Gabriel liked his with a lot of sugar, and Anna usually had equal, but minimal amounts of sugar and cream, so he had both in the cabinet if Dean wanted it.

“Black is fine,” Dean told him.

It was silly, but that commonality between them made him smile, and quieted some of his earlier doubts about the future of their relationship.

By the time he had the coffee poured and on the table, Dean had turned the gas off on the oven and was shifting food from the skillet to their plates. He carried it over and motioned for Castiel to sit down before he settled the plates in front of each of the cushions.

This time it was scrambled eggs with cheese, ham, and toast. It was certainly heartier than anything Castiel usually ate at breakfast, and it smelled just as good the previous meals Dean had made for him.

“When we were younger, me and Sammy would eat on the living room floor or in one of our bedrooms on days we were on our own. If dad was gone, or Bobby had an early job or something. My mom would do it with us sometimes, after my dad shipped out, so I guess that’s why I kept up after… well,” he shrugged and gave Castiel a quick smile as he sat down.  “It’s just a way to make things kind of silly, I guess. We didn’t usually use the coffee table, but I thought I’d try and class it up for you a little.”

Castiel took a drink of his coffee and they ate in silence for some time before he asked the question that had been crowding his thoughts all morning, “Have you ever been with anyone else before?”

Dean looked a little surprised, and his brows lifted the same way they had when Castiel had asked Maurice why he was at their table the night before. “You sure don’t waste any time. Are you asking whether I’ve ever been with anyone or whether I’ve been with another man before?”

“Both,” Castiel said. He didn’t know why he wanted to know, just that he did. Maybe he felt stupid for thinking Dean had had a girlfriend all of this time, and needed some reason to think he hadn’t actually been so far off the mark.

Dean chewed his toast thoughtfully, “Yeah, I have. Is that gonna be a problem?” His tone wasn’t quite defensive, but Castiel could hear the edge in his voice.     

“Will you tell me about them?” Castiel took a bite of his eggs and decided that Dean’s cooking definitely surpassed that of his grandmother’s. She had usually ended up burning eggs black on the bottom, and she had never been particularly creative with her toppings or seasonings.

“Nothing to tell,” Dean shrugged. “It never really worked out.”

Castiel frowned, “I don’t believe that, Dean.” He didn’t know why Dean was always so reluctant to talk about himself, but he didn’t want to get all of his information about him through Sam. And besides that, it felt like something they should talk about. Even if things weren’t going to go any further than they had last night, he wanted Dean to know that he could confide in him if he wanted. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that it might have made a difference for him if he had even been able to talk to Anna about his own feelings sometimes.

“Why do you wanna know, Cas? What difference does it make? It was you I was with last night, you I woke up next to this morning, and you I made breakfast for, so what’s it matter?” 

Castiel rolled his eyes, “It matters because it’s _you_. I want to hear you talk about yourself, all right? Sam talks more about you than you do, and he’s not even here right now. And...” he faltered, “... I still don’t know what to make of any of this, so I think some context would help.”

“You’re not exactly a chatterbox, yourself,” Dean shot back. “I’m lucky to get ten words outta you on a good day.”

“I listen, Dean. It’s what I do with Anna. It’s what I do with Sam. It’s what I’m trying to do with you now. But you’re being purposely obtuse. It’s not like you’ve asked me anything I haven’t answered. I’ve been honest with you.”

Dean looked scandalized, “Obtu…” he huffed, and leaned back, “All right, fine.” His mouth curved downward, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve been with a few girls. Only one I was kind of serious about, but it wasn’t going to work. She was…” Dean shook his head, like he wanted to put a lid on the thought. “I really liked her. I cared a lot about her. But her old man informed me, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t going to put her or his family’s safety at risk by having her dating me. Which, I guess was understandable. It’s not like we could walk through each other’s neighborhoods and not stand out. So, I let it go. Let her go. I got over it. Moved on.”

Castiel considered that for a moment. He wondered what kind of girl she had been—whether she was shy and kind or loud and headstrong. _Dutiful_ was the word that came to mind when he considered that she wasn’t with Dean now. She had apparently followed her father’s wishes. He wasn’t sure he would have done any differently—it wasn’t like wanting to be with a man was far off from wanting to be with someone who wasn’t your race, and if he’d had a father to tell him off, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to disobey—though having Dean in front of him now made him wonder. At the club, it didn’t matter as much, everyone was welcome given all of them were criminals in the eyes of the law, but he had seen conflicts arise because of that type of narrow mindedness.

He was sure she had been pretty. Like tended to attract like, and under any circumstances, Dean was most definitely the type of guy that could end up with some beautiful girl and start an equally beautiful family.

 “What was her name?” Castiel didn’t quite feel comfortable asking more about her outside of what Dean had already given him, seeing as how he had barely agreed to talk about her at all. But a name seemed fairly harmless. 

Dean looked away, bit his lower lip, and for a moment, Castiel thought he wasn’t going to answer. Maybe there was more to a name than he thought. He supposed it could conjure memories.

Dean shook his head and made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, “Cassie, believe it or not. Guess I’ve got a type. Or the universe has a twisted sense of humor.”

Castiel felt himself flush as Dean’s eyes locked on his. There was a strange intimacy in sharing a name with a potential lover’s past lover. It unnerved him. “W-who else?” He thought to ask whether Dean had ever called her ‘Cass,’ but he didn’t think he actually wanted that answer. 

Dean seemed to deflate a little more, and he ran his hands along the back of his neck, “It’s not… if I tell you this, then you have to spill your guts next, all right?”

“All right.” Castiel took a drink of his coffee, fully aware that if Dean asked, there wouldn’t be much to tell. He had never been in any kind of relationship, and any romantic encounters he’d had with other people had been exceedingly brief. “He wasn’t Castor, was he? Or Casper, maybe? ”

Dean groaned and then laughed, “That’s not funny, you jerk. No, his name was Benny.”

Castiel smiled a little from behind his mug, glad to hear the warmth back in Dean’s voice.

Dean looked more relaxed now, and he stuffed a piece of ham into his mouth and washed it down with a drink of coffee before he spoke again. “He was a little older, and, I dunno, we just got along. A little rough around the edges. Kinda like you. Except he liked music.” He shrugged, half a smile on his lips, “I always felt safe with him.”

Castiel didn’t know how much he should read into Dean’s comparisons of him to his past relationships, whether it was something he should be concerned about or not, there was a part of him that felt almost flattered Dean wanted to align them at all. Dean was friendly, but he was difficult to get close to, and being grouped in with people that would have been closest to him gave Castiel a certain measure of pride. 

“He, uh, worked for Bobby in the summers, so I knew him before we… well, it was a fling, or whatever, I guess.” Dean shifted a little, “He enlisted. I think Bobby finding us together maybe spooked him a little. He wrote me a couple of times, but I just… I had Sammy to look out for, and I took over the shop not long after. Dad was pissing the whole thing away.”

Castiel’s brows knit together as he processed that last bit of information. “He caught you two-” 

“In a less than dignified position,” Dean clarified for him, quickly. “That’s why when I brought you around he was…” He sighed, “...concerned.”

“Because he knows about you,” Castiel said slowly as the implications of what having someone so close to Dean knowing something like that could entail. He was half amazed Dean hadn’t been sent off to an asylum to be “cured.” He’d heard plenty of stories at the club about people who had met that fate because of an ill-timed kiss or a too-familiar brush of the hand.          

Dean shrugged, “He wanted to make sure I was being more careful this time. And that I wasn’t being taken advantage of.” He swigged his coffee and scooped up his last bite of eggs. “Finish your food.”  

Castiel lifted a brow, more at the idea that he would take advantage of Dean than the command Dean had just given him. He imagined Dean was probably used to saying the same thing to Sam whenever they ate, so he simply did it rather than say anything. When he finished, he poured himself another cup of coffee, and Dean whisked both of their plates away.

“All right, your turn. Who have you been with?”

“You,” Castiel said easily, and moved so his back was against the window as he stretched his legs out in front of him. The sun was warm on his shoulders and neck. 

Dean gave him a look, “C’mon, seriously. I was honest with you. I won’t even hold it against you if you tell me you fibbed before and it was Anna.” 

Castiel closed his eyes and sighed heavily, “I am being serious. There’s never been anything between me and Anna. Like I told you, she had a brief lapse in judgement, during which she thought we should be together, but I felt otherwise. I’ve never been honestly interested in anyone. Let alone women. I’m not… totally inexperienced, but I’ve never been with anyone like you described. ” He didn’t feel particularly embarrassed about it, but he could feel Dean’s eyes on him even though his own were still closed.

He heard him come back across the room from the kitchen and then, much to his surprise, Dean settled in his lap. When he opened his eyes again, they were face to face, Dean’s legs straddled over his hips. Being so close to him made Castiel’s heart rate increase almost instantly.

“So,” Dean lifted each of Castiel’s hands to rest at his hips to punctuate his statements as he spoke, “No girlfriends, no boyfriends. But ‘not totally inexperienced.’ Wanna elaborate on that for me?” He looked amused.

“I’ve had encounters. I was fellated at a theatre once,” he said bluntly.

“What?” Dean sounded like he had swallowed a frog, and he coughed and cleared his throat to recover. “You what, now?”

Castiel furrowed his brows, “I was fellated...it means-”

“-I know what it means,” Dean said quickly. “How does that even happen to a guy with no interest in anyone?” 

“Curiosity and disinterest aren’t always mutually exclusive, Dean.” It was funny for him to see Dean look so surprised when moments earlier he’d looked playful. He liked watching his expressions—his face, particularly his eyes, seemed to say whatever his mouth didn’t. 

“Yeah, but… I mean, what kind of movie…it wasn’t the drive-in?”

Castiel shrugged, “It probably would have been less risky there. I don’t own a car though, and Meg, the bartender from last night, suggested that I go to that theatre because of its reputation for being… I think the euphemism she used was, ‘an Emerald City.’”

Dean looked a little far away, like he was trying to remember Meg’s face, and then nodded as a look of dawning unfurled over his features, “But it wasn’t her that... “

“No, of course not. I really only went because they were showing _A Streetcar Named Desire_ for a nickel. A little while after I got there, this guy sat down next to me, and then managed to feel me up at just the right time. I think I went along with it because the movie is actually kind of a downer.” 

Dean laughed, “So you just let some guy put his mouth on you because the picture wasn’t that good? Was he at least good-looking?” 

“Well, no, not exactly.” Castiel rolled his eyes, “I let him do it because, like I said, I was curious, and he had good timing. I couldn’t really tell you what he looked like, we were in the dark. Have you seen it?” 

Dean laughed again and shook his head in disbelief. “No, not really,” he shrugged, “Didn’t seem like the kind of thing you take your kid brother to go see. I think I was about fifteen when it came out, so Sammy was pretty young.” 

“It’s not. The first time I saw it was with Anna, though she threatened me with death if I ever told anyone. If I go missing, you’ll know why. It’s not bad. Marlon Brando kept me interested enough.”

Dean’s brows lifted, and a slow smile started on his features as he shifted closer to him. “Are you a Brando fan?” he asked. His arms came up to drape around Castiel’s shoulders. “Did you see him in _The Wild One_?” 

Castiel, who really wished Dean would sit still if he was going to stay in his lap, nodded once, “The guys were excited about it, so we all went one weekend.” He cleared his throat, “I preferred him in _Streetcar_. That day we went to pick up the part you needed for my bike, you reminded me of him.” 

“Oh yeah?”  

Castiel nodded again, though there was so little space between them at this point, it was hardly perceptible. “You were just wearing that undershirt like he does in the film. I thought I was going to lose it when I saw you leaning against your truck that day. I nearly turned around and left.”

Dean’s fingers had found their way into the hair near the base of Castiel’s neck, and he felt the hair on the rest of his body start to stand on end despite the heat. How it was possible that he had Dean in his lap after having wanted him from a distance for so long, he’d never know.

“You know, you didn’t look half bad that day either,” Dean told him softly.

Skepticism colored Castiel’s features as he glanced up at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. You never look anything but good to me.” Dean’s fingers shifted in Castiel’s hair, and he pulled him into a kiss.

Castiel’s grip tightened on Dean’s hips as he tried to ground himself. The kiss was heated and deep, and Castiel already felt like he was drowning in him. He slid his hands along Dean’s back to pull him closer, and Dean rolled his hips forward so deftly that Castiel was half convinced that he had been the one to initiate the movement. He hadn’t been, of course. There was no way that he would have done anything to himself that would have been so certain to put him in need of a cold shower.

Castiel pulled away, half frightened, half aroused, and with barely enough restraint to keep himself from laying Dean out and spending the rest of the morning kissing every inch of him. He pressed his face into the crook of Dean’s neck and held him tight around his middle. He smelled like their breakfast, and beneath that whatever soap he generally used—a strong, clean scent, that Castiel assumed helped him cut through what would have been an otherwise overwhelming smell of motor oil and engine grease. Castiel wanted him so much he couldn’t stand it, wanted to stay pressed against him and pretend that the outside world didn’t exist, if only for a little longer. But he was keenly aware of the impossibility of abandoning the world at large in exchange for a few more moments with one of the only people he had ever had any real interest in. People couldn’t just shake off their lives because they wanted to. Reality didn’t bend, no matter how much you might want to break it.  

Dean’s fingers moved soothingly against his scalp, and Castiel felt him kiss the top of his head, “Let’s get dressed. I should get back.”

 

 

Castiel gave Dean a lift back to the garage so he could pick up his truck. Despite the hand that Dean had discreetly snuck under his shirt when he had climbed on behind him, and the way the feel of Dean’s fingers against his skin as they rode gave him goosebumps, he couldn’t help the sinking that came over him as they pulled up at the garage. 

When they arrived, there was a car parked out front, the driver and passenger of which occupied Sam’s bench. Dean’s hand slid away from his abdomen, and Castiel felt his sinking deepen. Nothing could shatter a fantasy like the presence of other people. His heart had shifted from his chest to the middle of his throat as he pulled up to let Dean off.

“Morning, folks!” Dean smiled and gave a wave to the man and woman who were seated on the bench as he dismounted Castiel’s bike, and handed him the helmet. 

The man, who looked even squarer than Dean, was thin and bespectacled. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he stood up, and rocked awkwardly on the balls of his feet, like he wasn’t certain if he should go to meet Dean or stay where he was.  Although his glasses were more Buddy Holly than James Dean, the fact that he wore them reminded Castiel how good Dean had looked in his just days before.

“If you give me just a minute to get myself situated, I’ll be right with you fine people. I did some work for this gentleman and I want to get him squared away before I start on you folks.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, and he was laying it on a little thick, but even if it hadn’t been the truth, Castiel was fairly certain that Dean could have sold anything with that smile of his.

“All right. We’ll wait,” the guy had a deeper voice than Castiel expected, and he wondered if he was actually as nervous as he looked.    

“C’mon in,” Dean directed his attention back to him, “Let me take care of you first.”

Castiel turned off his bike and hung the helmet over his handle bars. He was a little surprised that he hadn’t just been expected to speed away after he had dropped Dean off, and probably more excited than he had any right to be in broad daylight. He wondered if Dean knew how easy it would be to get him to do whatever he wanted any time he used that turn of phrase. If he’d had any sense, he would have stayed on his bike and actually rode off without a second thought. Now that Dean seemed receptive of his feelings, he wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to hide his desire for him in the presence of other people. Which was one more good reason to keep Dean and the Garrison far away from each other.

Dean moved like he had nothing to hide, and unlocked the garage doors before flashing the pair, who were probably in their late twenties or early thirties, another winning smile. “You two just sit tight for me.”

Castiel didn’t think the woman was the man’s wife, maybe a sister or cousin. She looked younger, but equally thin, and wore a very practical looking dress dotted with little yellow flowers that matched her hair. Castiel gave them a brief nod of acknowledgement as he followed after Dean, and she smiled shyly in his direction. She wasn’t especially pretty, but if Castiel had been interested in women, he thought that she might be the sort he’d like.

When they got into the office, Dean shut the door tight behind them, double checked the curtains on the windows, and then proceeded to spend the next thirty seconds reminding Castiel exactly why he wasn’t into women. As soon as Dean seized him, Castiel found that despite the risk—that the man and woman outside could walk in on them at any second—he was just as hungry for Dean as Dean seemed to be for him. Dean had grabbed him while they had still been near the door, but Castiel, in a few quick steps, had them at the desk, which Dean sat on the edge of as Castiel fit himself between his thighs to bring them closer.

“Hey, mister,” Dean said breathlessly when Castiel had finally found enough self-control to pull away from him. He had that teasing lilt to his voice that let Castiel know he was about to get wise with him, “Aren’t you happy with the services I’ve provided? I expect to be paid in full.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, “Bank’s closed, I’m afraid.” He would have liked to stay in that cramped little office kissing Dean all day, but he knew they had already been too long, and it wasn’t like he wanted Dean to lose any business just because they couldn’t seem to keep their hands off one another. He made to step back, and Dean wrapped his legs around his hips, effectively locking him in place.

“Dean…”

“You talk like a grandpa sometimes, you know. ‘Bank’s closed.’ No one says that anymore.”

Castiel frowned. Gabriel had mentioned something similar to him before.

“All right,” Dean sighed and then leaned back on his hands without releasing his legs from around Castiel. “One for the road? And then I’ll go out and see what I can do for those two. Promise.”

Castiel had no idea how he was supposed to win against Dean when he looked at him like that. Of course, he relented, and leaned in to kiss him again. Dean’s legs loosened from around his hips, and he didn’t do anything more than let himself be kissed while he sat there on the desk. 

When Castiel pulled away again, he only managed it by reminding himself that he would be standing in the way of Dean’s livelihood if he didn’t.

Dean ran his tongue along his lower lip, and Castiel thought he could have melted to nothing right there in front of him for being forced to watch such a thing. 

“I like you, Cas,” Dean said, his eyes downcast, his voice soft. 

Castiel was fairly certain his heart stopped in his chest when Dean finally looked up at him again, his green eyes dark in the muted light of the office. There was an undercurrent of desire in them that Castiel had seen on Dean only once before, while they had been swimming, and which made him take a careful step back so as not to fall into them again. How many expressions could one man have? And how could every one of them make him want to remake himself into something new, just so he could withstand the one before?

“The feeling’s mutual,” he managed. “I should go.”

“I’ll see you later, then.” His face softened, the dark desire replaced with something more vulnerable, “Just… don’t go avoiding me again, okay?” 

Castiel cleared his throat and opened the door, “Sure thing.” He slipped out, and barely acknowledged Dean’s waiting customers as he got on his bike and rode away.

If some street punk didn’t kill him first, Dean Winchester would be the death of him.

 

 

Things had quieted on the streets. It seemed that the attacks had slowed, at least for the moment, and whether it was due to some more nefarious orchestration (a lot of the guys thought Lucky, or even a rogue Al had something in the works, but there was no proof) or Anna’s hyper vigilance was to be determined, but Castiel could sense the way the tension eased out of the Garrison. Anna had kept them on high alert for the last few weeks, and though she wasn’t convinced they could let their guard down just yet, the general consensus was that they would take reprieve where they could get it. Which suited Castiel just fine. It meant that it was easier for him to find time to be either alone, or with Dean. And for the moment, solitude be damned. He’d take time with Dean where he could get it.

 

 

Castiel dropped by the shop after work, half convinced that if he showed up any sooner than he had, Dean’s affection for him would have evaporated and left him right back where he started, and he didn’t think he could stomach that.

When he arrived, Dean was underneath a car on a creeper, radio playing in the background, as usual. It was just like the day he had brought in his bike, except that today Dean had his coveralls on, and instead of Little Richard, playing it was Sinatra.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said without hesitation. He could have watched him all day, but he needed to know right away whether or not he had somehow made the whole thing up. He had even considered calling from the phone at work, but decided against it at the last minute. He didn’t want to be rejected over the phone if it came to that. 

Dean slid out from under the car, a grin breaking over his features, “If it isn’t ol’ Blue Eyes himself,” he teased. “Come to sing me a ballad? I like _Close to You_ if you’re taking requests.” He sat up and let his grease smeared arms drape over his knees.

“I’m not a very good singer,” Castiel admitted. The Sinatra song had ended, and he wasn’t sure who was singing now—some woman with a smoky voice. Dean always looked so good to him; he wished he _could_ sing. He’d have written a hundred thousand songs about him by now and sung every one. He’d already done half a dozen sketches at each of his lunches since the last time he’d seen him. It wasn’t wise by any means, but he had all but given up trying to keep Dean out of his head at this point. The dam had been broken, and he didn’t think he’d be able to wall it up again if he tried. So he sketched and hoped that no one noticed the way his sketchbook was slowly becoming the shrine at which he worshiped Dean Winchester’s perfection. 

“Ah,” Dean waved him off, “That’s okay. Who needs pipes when they’ve got a face like yours?” He was still grinning, though maybe a little more shyly than initially, and he finally got up and wiped his hands on his jumpsuit. Castiel couldn’t help but notice that it was open at the collar. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes, Cas.” Dean’s voice had a soft, breathless quality about it. 

Castiel could feel Dean’s eyes on him, and he forced himself to look at Dean’s face as he ran his palms along the seams of his pants. No smoking. He’d smoked with the guys at work before he rode over, and had promised himself that he would avoid it as long as possible while he was around Dean.

“It’s good to see you too.” He cast around for something more to say, “Were you able to help those people that were here when I dropped you off the other day?”

Dean’s smile brightened. “Yeah. Just a blown fuse, nothing too serious. I had some spares, so it was actually a pretty quick job. I just tidied up, looked at the books, and called Sammy before I closed up again.”

“Oh, well, I guess it’s good we came when we did.” He was doing his best not to think about the way Dean had pressed himself against him, or how easily he had fit between Dean’s thighs that day, but he definitely wasn’t succeeding.  

“Yeah, it really worked out,” Dean said vaguely. He glanced at the ground and ran his hand along the back of his neck.

“Can I-”    

“So, how’s-”

They both tried to speak at the same time, and Dean chuckled as Castiel took a breath.

“What were you going to ask?” Castiel said after a moment.

“Just, uh, I wondered if I could… if you’d let me take you somewhere tonight. We could have dinner at my place. Or, we could go out somewhere if you’re tired of eating my cooking. I was just gonna heat up leftovers tonight.” 

“No,” Castiel said immediately. Dean looked a little crestfallen, and Castiel hurried to clarify himself, “I mean, I’m not tired of your cooking. We can have dinner and then go wherever you want. I’d like that.” He didn’t want to give up a chance to see the place where Dean made his home. They hadn’t really discussed it, but while the Winchesters had been to his apartment several times at this point, he had no idea where they lived. He was seized with the intense and sudden desire to see and know that particular part of Dean, and because of that he hadn’t been as smooth as he might have liked in his answer.

It didn't matter though, because the grin that Dean gave him was almost as goofy as he felt.

"Really? Okay. All right, uh, well, I guess I have some things to finish up here..." he looked around like he wished he could will his remaining responsibilities away, "...but, can I pick you up at your place once I close up shop?"

Castiel shifted, aware that his heart had tripped in his chest, "Sure."

 

 

When he got back to his apartment, Castiel smoked, showered and changed, smoked again, and then went next door to ring Anna. He probably should have invested in a phone, but she was really the only one he ever called with any frequency. And even that was mostly just to tell her he was on his way to or from another place. They rarely had actual conversations over the phone, but it was just as likely that it was due to the fact that he didn’t have his own phone, and didn’t feel particularly comfortable sitting in his neighbor’s living room to have a chat. 

“You could just bring him along, you know,” Anna told him, irritation barely kept in check. “It’s not like we’re getting up to anything tonight. Just the usual. Surely his ears aren’t so delicate he can’t come hang around.”

Castiel sighed, “I just wanted to let you know I wouldn’t be there tonight. It doesn’t have to be a fight every time I choose to go out with Dean.”

 Anna made a sound that told Castiel she wasn’t buying what he was selling.

“Just... “he sighed again, “I’ll bring him along some other time.” He still liked the idea of keeping Dean and the Garrison separate, but the spheres were drawing ever closer to one another, and he knew that eventually they’d cross again. Dean was their go-to mechanic, so it wasn’t like they weren’t already touching. It was just that Castiel wanted to protect him as well as himself from everything that would come with people being more aware of their closeness. Even if they didn’t admit it outright, Castiel had the feeling that people could see it on him—how much he wanted Dean, how it was easier for him to be around Sam and Dean Winchester than it was for him to be around the people he had known for most of his life. It made him feel vulnerable and exposed, and those were things he wasn’t used to feeling around the Garrison.

 

 

 

The ride to the Winchesters’ was a mostly silent affair, with the exception of the radio, and Dean’s occasional question about how his day had gone. There was an awkward tension between them that Castiel couldn’t quite pinpoint, but that he thought might have something to do with the fact that neither of them had touched the other or even made mention of the fact that they had hardly been able to keep themselves from it just days earlier. It wasn’t so much that Castiel had expected that sort of thing, and more that he wasn’t sure what the absence of it meant. It could be that Dean had decided to ignore everything that had passed between them at the Carnation Club and after. Or it might mean that while he wasn’t actively ignoring what had passed between them, he had decided that a physical relationship wasn’t something that he could deal with. Castiel thought that was the most likely given that Dean had invited him out. They were probably still friends, at least. But Dean had been the one to initiate all of it, even the stolen kisses in his office, so maybe it wasn’t so likely after all. Maybe nothing had changed. Maybe Dean was just waiting for him to make the first move while he was waiting for Dean to do the same, and they would sit in petrified silence together for the rest of their lives. Less likely, but possible. Even with as much as he wanted Dean, and as much as it lifted his spirits to see him, Castiel couldn’t bring himself to make even a casual pass at him at the moment. If there was any part of Dean that had doubts about being more than friends, then Castiel didn’t want to push him.

“Here we are,” Dean said as they pulled up to a small, two story farmhouse. It was pale yellow with a sloped roof and a porch swing. A large garage, which had probably been a barn at some point, stood several yards off to the right. There was nothing about it that screamed wealth, but it looked well cared for, and Castiel had the feeling that it was Dean’s doing.

Dean killed the engine and ran his hands down his thighs before getting out of the car. Castiel got out as well and followed him up the steps to the front door. 

“Did you grow up here?” Castiel asked as Dean let them inside. The inside of the house was fairly dark, even though the sun hadn’t quite gone down yet, and Castiel could just make out the heavy wood planks that made up the walls and floors. It was modestly, yet comfortably, decorated. There was definitely a bit more furniture than Castiel had—two armchairs in addition to the couch and coffee table, and an old Philco shoved in one corner, while a television stood on legs across from the couch. 

“Not counting the time we lived with Bobby? Yeah.” He huffed a laugh, “Believe it or not, I was born in the bathtub. I should probably clean up before dinner. You can make yourself comfortable. Kitchen’s just through there,” he pointed down the hall. “Dad’s probably out for the night, so should just be us.” 

Castiel didn’t miss the discomfort in Dean’s voice when he mentioned his father. Castiel remembered the way Dean had looked bruised and bloody in his own living room, and thought it was probably for the best that he wasn’t around. 

“Can I see your room?” Castiel had been taking in the living room and entryway, and hadn’t looked too much at Dean while he had been talking, but his eyes were fixed on him now. He thought he could ask for that much. He still had no idea where it was Dean wanted to take him after dinner, and he wasn’t sure he cared, but he absolutely wanted to see his room. He wanted to know him. He didn’t think he’d be able to forgive himself if he let the opportunity to see a more personal part of Dean slip by.

“Oh, uh, sure. It’s nothin’ to write home about, but it’s upstairs. Follow me.” Dean led him up the narrow staircase to the second floor. His room was at the end of the hall, directly above the kitchen, and next to the bathroom. “That’s Sammy’s room,” Dean indicated the closed door across from his. “Enter at your own risk. That kid had a new science experiment every week in there one summer and I couldn’t get the stench out for months.” He shook his head as he opened his own door. Once inside, he crossed to his closet and disappeared inside. 

Castiel stepped through the door slowly, and looked carefully at the space around him. It was small, and the roof was slanted where the bed was, but there was something unmistakably _Dean_ about it. 

Like the shop, it seemed immaculately kept, hardly a speck of dust to be found, and like the living room, it seemed to be decorated with some measure of comfort in mind. There was a circular rug in the center of the room, and another one nearer to the bed, which was piled with three pillows, and neatly made. A window along the wall filtered light through a nearly sheer curtain. There was a stool under it, and a stand with a record player just to the side. The records were underneath, and as Castiel bent to inspect them, he noticed that they were apparently organized chronologically as well as alphabetically. 

There was a narrow desk along the adjacent wall, and Castiel moved to look at the framed photograph on it. There was a pretty woman with long, light-colored hair holding a toddler in her arms, and a tall man in uniform next to her. A freckle-nosed little boy stood on his feet, his grin unmistakable even at a difference of fifteen or so years.     

“That’s the only picture of us all together.”

Castiel turned, not at all startled by Dean’s sudden nearness. He had a towel draped over one shoulder, and although he was close enough to touch, there was a respectable amount of space between them still. Dean reached over and picked the photo up. “It was right before dad shipped out, I think.” 

“Your mother was very pretty. She had a kind smile,” Castiel said. Dean had definitely gotten his looks from her, and he could see how Sam tended toward their father.

“Yeah,” Dean ran his thumb over the edge of the frame, “She did.” He set it back down on the desk. “Well, I’m gonna get cleaned up,” he said as he took a step back. “Don’t want dinner too late.”

“Dean,” Castiel moved closer to him, and he wanted so much to touch him that it hurt. He wanted to be whatever it was that Dean needed right then.

“Like I said, just make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be ready in a jiff. If you want, you can even start heating dinner. It’s all in containers in the fridge. Meatloaf and potatoes.” He turned and disappeared down the hall to the bathroom.

Castiel sighed and took another look around the room. There were a few repair manuals stacked on the nightstand next to the lamp. He would have liked to examine more of the room, maybe look inside the closet or nightstand drawer, but he didn’t feel right about it, and instead went downstairs to see if he could find his way around the kitchen.

It took him a little bit of time to adjust, but as seemed to be Dean’s way, everything was neatly organized, and once he figured out where things were, he had very little trouble locating the particulars.

It was a little awkward to be inside of Dean’s house without having him, or even Sam nearby, and he set the small, wooden table with an air of unease about him. He set out the silverware and fiddled with each piece of it in an attempt to make it look perfect without really succeeding or knowing why he felt it was important. 

“Oh, hey, you found everything,” Dean came down the stairs in a fitted tee shirt and pants, his usual plaid half open over the top of his tee. 

“You’re very organized,” Castiel offered. “I… wasn’t sure if there was any certain way you wanted things done, so I hope this is okay.”

“No, Cas, this is great. Sorry I left you to fend for yourself. Just thought I should probably scrub the grime out of my hair.” He smiled as he finished buttoning his shirt and began to tuck it into the waistband of his pants. 

“It’s all right. I, more or less, left you and Sam to do the same after…well, when you came over the first time.”

“Guess we’re even now,” Dean shrugged. He helped Castiel finish carrying their plates to the table, and they sat down to eat.

Dinner, in a similar fashion to the ride over, was a mostly silent affair. However, Castiel felt it was a more companionable silence than their previous one. He supposed sharing a meal had a way of easing tensions that riding in a car with someone you weren’t quite sure if you were allowed to kiss again didn’t. Dean seemed less tense after his shower, and Castiel wondered if he had managed to wash away anxiety along with filth. He thought that if Sam had been there, he would have filled up the silence between them with questions or comments, and Castiel would have forgotten most of his own anxiety as well. He didn’t think of himself as good at conversation, but by the end of dinner, he felt that he had wasted time he could have spent getting to know Dean a little better. He could afford to learn from Sam’s example. It was difficult enough to get time alone with Dean as it was—he needed to take advantage of it when he had it, to hell with uncertainty.

“Where did you want to take me?” Castiel had been disinclined to ask, but they were cleaning up now, and it seemed like a good conversation starter. He carried their cups to the sink, where Dean was rinsing their plates.

When Dean turned around to answer him, they were nearly nose to nose, only inches between them, and he flushed as his eyes dropped, noticeably, to Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel stared at him. 

Dean’s tongue slid along his lower lip. “It’s... a surprise. Well, sort of. I mean, I’d just rather show you than tell you.” Dean caught his lip between his teeth and his eyes fell to Castiel’s mouth for the second time in thirty seconds. 

That was really what did him in. Castiel might have had limited experience flirting or dating, but he thought he could read the looks Dean was giving him. He took a half step closer to him and set the cups on the counter next to the sink before he settled his newly freed hand at the base of Dean’s neck. He was legitimately concerned about whether this was something that Dean really wanted, but if Dean was waiting for him to make the next move, then he was ready to put his waiting to an end. If it wasn’t what he wanted, if he was reading the situation all wrong, then Dean would tell him. He was straightforward kind of guy. They’d just resume being friends. Or he hoped they would. Business as usual.

Tension seemed to melt from Dean’s body at Castiel’s touch, and when Castiel tilted his head up to meet Dean’s mouth, Dean settled his hands on Castiel’s hips. 

Their lips had barely brushed when they heard the screen door bang open, and practically sprang apart. Dean’s entire body went rigid. It was probably the most physical change Castiel had ever seen Dean have in front of him. He could go from almost cold to flirty in a blink, but this was nothing like that. This was more like the look some guys got in their first big brawl. A deer in headlights look. A fear of God look. Castiel wasn’t sure if it was because they could have been caught, but he didn’t think that was it. He knew that fear. He had it himself. He’d had it when another guy sucked him into his mouth in the middle of a dark theatre a few years back. It hadn’t looked the way Dean did now.  

The voice that echoed Dean’s name through the house was gruff, a bit slurred, and slightly too loud for indoors. 

“In here- the kitchen.” Dean’s voice sounded thin. He cleared his throat. 

Castiel wanted to take his hand, or to pull him into his arms, but he didn’t. He had a feeling Dean wouldn’t take well to it at the moment.

The man that came into the kitchen was a shadow of the man Castiel had seen in Dean’s photograph. Aged, and with the only recognizable features being his dark hair, which was now shot through with grey, and sleepy eyes. He was a little taller than Dean, maybe an inch or two, but where Dean seemed to glow with the warmth in his skin—like a son of Apollo—his father was sallow and grey. Maybe once they had shared a resemblance, but he was unshaven and his eyes were red-rimmed, and he couldn’t have been any more of a contrast to Dean if he tried.

Dean’s father ambled to the fridge, opened it and stuck his head in for a full minute before he emerged again with a bottle of beer. “Did you check on Sam,” he popped the lid on the edge of the counter.

“Yes, sir.” Dean’s voice sounded less strained, and instead had gained a certain rigidity that made him sound so unlike himself, Castiel had to resist the urge to look to see if it was actually Dean who was standing beside him. 

“Well?” He took a long drink from the bottle. “Has Bobby put him to work yet?” 

“Yes, sir. Said he’s been a big help so far.” 

He nodded, and then seemed to notice Castiel’s presence for the first time, “Who the hell are you?”

Castiel wasn’t sure if it was the way he asked or that he had somehow managed not to notice him until then, but he didn’t feel especially offended by the question. It felt a little like he asked everyone the same thing upon meeting them for the first time.  

“Dad, this is Cas- Castiel,” Dean said quickly. “This is my dad, John Winchester.”

Castiel stepped forward just enough to place himself between Dean and John, looked at him without the slightest trace of the deference Dean seemed ready to offer, despite the fact that he was of a larger build and had at least three inches on him. Castiel looked directly into his eyes and dared him to lay a finger on Dean in his presence. This was the man who had beaten Dean weeks earlier, and the only thing he felt for him when he remembered that night was disgust.

John looked him up and down, took another drink, and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the counter, “You look like a delinquent. How do you know Dean?” he switched his attention back to Dean, “You had better stay out of trouble, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”  

Castiel wondered what exactly it was about him that radiated “delinquent,” but he couldn’t help but smile a little just because Bobby had said the same thing. Anna would have gotten a kick out of it too. 

“Dean did some repair work for me,” Castiel said coolly. “We have similar taste in music.” Not quite a lie. Castiel didn’t have any particular taste in music to begin with, but he liked watching Dean sing along or move to it. 

John scoffed, and went to grab another beer. “Well, are you staying for dinner?” 

Castiel finally spared a glance in Dean’s direction. His expression was carefully blank, his eyes on the floor, and it broke Castiel’s heart just a little.        

“Actually,” Castiel squared his shoulders a little more and was careful to keep his hands relaxed, though the urge to smoke had come on strong, and he wanted to fidget, “I was hoping I could talk Dean into coming out with me for a while. Some of my friends wanted to meet him.” 

Dean looked up at that, his eyes a little bigger than they probably should have been to really sell the lie, but as far as Castiel was concerned, it was the truth. Anna and Gabe had been bothering him to bring Dean around, and they were already on their way out. There was no need to mention that they’d already eaten. Judging by the look on Dean’s face, it would have rocked the boat a little too much for comfort. 

“Go on then,” John made an almost violent gesture with his hand to suggest that they should leave before he had anything more to say about the matter. “Not like I’ve never eaten alone before.” 

“Dad, there are leftovers in the refrigerator,” Dean said, already headed for the door. He was halfway there before Castiel ever moved.

“You got something to say to me, boy?” John stood to his full height in front of Castiel.

Castiel tilted his head and stared harder at him for a moment before he spoke, “No, I don’t think I do. Have a good night, John.” 

The lines around John’s eyes deepened, and Castiel made his exit before something more physical passed between them. Despite his disgust for anyone who would beat their own son the way John had Dean, Castiel had no desire to get into a physical altercation with the man. He didn’t think Dean would appreciate it, never mind the fact that John was significantly larger than he was and militarily trained. Even on his best day, he wouldn’t have wanted to weather the blows of such heavy looking hands.

 

 

Silence overtook them once again when they got back in the truck, and this time, it was tense enough to touch. Castiel wanted to speak, but thought better of it, and instead unrolled his Luckies from his shirtsleeve, and put one, unlit, between his lips just to taste it. He’d intentionally left his lighter at home to resist the urge to smoke while he was with Dean, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the smokes entirely. It was too much of a habit, and not smoking made him edgy, so he felt it was a good compromise.

Dean drove for a little while, his eyes fixed to the road in front of him, while Castiel watched him from the passenger seat. He was all tension, his hands tight on the wheel, his shoulders nearly at his ears. Castiel was fairly certain he hadn't even noticed that he had gotten his smokes out.

Eventually, the truck rolled to a stop in the middle of field, and Dean cut the engine, but didn't relax. He still looked like he might bolt at the slightest provocation. Castiel decided to take that chance. He reached over and took Dean's hand, interlocked their fingers, and just sat there with him. 

Dean looked startled, like he had forgotten Castiel was there at all, but he didn't pull away, and Castiel took that as a good sign. “I’ll listen,” he said after a few minutes, “if you want to talk.” 

The sun had set entirely before Dean finally spoke, and when he did, his voice sounded weary, “You wanna sit with me in the back? That was my original plan.”  

Castiel tucked his cigarette behind his ear and gently pulled his hand free of Dean’s, “All right.” He climbed out of the cab and headed around to the back of the truck, where Dean met him with a quilt folded over his arms. He let the tailgate down and spread the quilt out in the bed of the truck before climbing in and motioning for Castiel to follow his lead. 

“I didn’t think he’d be home,” Dean said once they were both flat on their backs. Dean had tucked his hands behind his head, but Castiel had his at his side, so they were as close as could be managed like that. “He’s not… I know he seems a little rough around the edges, but he’s not always like that. It can be really good sometimes. When he’s not drinking or in a mood. He’s not a bad person. He’s just had it rough, you know? And then when he lost mom, I don’t know… I think it just broke something in him.” 

Castiel decided not to comment on the merits of John Winchester’s character. Whatever Dean saw in him, he had yet to see it himself, and he wasn’t in the business of bad mouthing people’s fathers, whether they seemed like they deserved it or not. “What happened to her?” He turned his head so he could see Dean’s profile.

“Cancer. And then pneumonia because she wouldn’t stay at the hospital. I think dad had been home less than two years before... He started the garage back up when he got home, but he just couldn’t keep it together after the war and losing her. So, then me and Sammy went to live with Bobby because dad could barely stand to look at us, let alone take care of us.” Dean’s face pinched, “I think… I think part of him blamed us. Blames us. Because she wanted to take care of us rather than get better. I guess I’d blame us too. She was the love of his life.”

“You were children, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was as gentle as he could make it. Dean looked next to wrecked. “Sam’s still just a kid. You shouldn’t have to be frightened of your own father. You should have been able to count on him to protect you. The war took a lot from a lot of people, but we didn’t have anything to do with that. We were all just kids when it started and kids when it ended. Your father might have lost the love of his life, but you and Sam lost your mother. And in some ways, your father too.”

Dean seemed to sit with that for a moment, to collect himself, and then very slowly, turned onto his side to face Castiel, who was still on his back, but entirely focused on Dean. Their eyes met.  

“Did your dad go off to fight too? You never talk about your parents.”

Castiel took a deep breath, “In a manner of speaking.” He didn’t talk about his parents because there wasn’t much to say about them. “He left on the bus with the other recruits. I was… maybe eight or nine at the time. We had already been living with my grandmother for a while by then. My grandfather was killed in a mining accident when I was two, and mother ran off with another man around the same time. Or that’s what I was told. I don’t know what happened to her. It was convenient for us to move in with my grandmother.” He turned on his side to face Dean, who was still watching him intently. “He deserted. I don’t know where he is or what happened to him. For all I know, the military found and shot him. Or he built an entirely new life in France or some other place. Or he found my mother again. Maybe I have a few younger siblings running around now.” 

He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, “Christ, I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even Anna knows about him. My grandmother couldn’t deal with the shame, so we never talked about it. If anyone asked, she said he was MIA.”

He felt Dean’s hand grip his, “Secret’s safe with me. Do you miss them?” Dean’s voice sounded uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask.  

Castiel opened his eyes again, “I used to. I miss my grandmother from time to time. But I’ve realized long ago that my father was never very interested in being a father. Not to me. So after a while, I just stopped. I was the same age as Sam is now when my grandmother died, and I didn’t have time to waste on wishes that weren’t going to come true. The Garrison helped with that. Gave me a place to fit for a while.” He sighed and moved to change the subject, “What are we doing out here?”

Dean squeezed his hand a little tighter. “I come out here to think. And there’s supposed to be a meteor shower, so I thought it would be nice to show you. I like the stars, always have. I just... I wanted to spend some time with you,” he finished. “I was really afraid you might disappear again. That maybe I had made the whole thing up.” Dean lifted his hand and pulled the backs of his fingers along Castiel’s jaw. 

It was too tender a gesture, and Castiel felt his heart do that tripping thing that had started to become a habit every time Dean looked at him just right. He couldn’t bring himself to tell him that he had thought the same thing. Instead, he lifted Dean’s calloused palm to his lips, and there was a soft intake of air that came from him when Castiel pressed a kiss to the underside of his wrist as well. Neither of them had made it up.

“In the kitchen… was it true? About your friends wanting you to bring me around? Or were you just saying that to keep dad from getting angry about dinner?”

Castiel sighed and let Dean have his hand back. “Unfortunately, yes, it’s true. They’re curious because I’ve never really hung around anyone else before. Obviously Anna knows that we’re friends, but she hasn’t told the others. And the only thing I’ve told them is that you’re square so that they wouldn’t get any funny ideas about recruiting you.”       

“Would they do that?” 

Castiel rolled his eyes, “You’re a mechanic, and we’ve used you fairly regularly in the past. Not to mention you can hold your own when you need to. They’d think it was a fantastic idea. You’d have a jacket inside a month if I vouched for you. I won’t though, so don’t get any ideas either.”

Dean laughed and shifted closer to him, “I don’t plan on joining any gangs now or ever. I’ve worked too hard to get the garage running to get mixed up in anything like that. No offense.” 

“None taken. Most of the time, we run inside of the law so no one gets thrown in the slammer, but people get hurt, people die, things get broken. It’s the nature of the game. And I wouldn’t be part of it myself if I’d had many other options when I was younger. Or, at least if I had never met Anna. Or maybe if our parents hadn’t gone to war. I’d give it up in a minute if I could.” 

“They’re your friends though. You don’t regret that, do you?” Dean traced a finger along Castiel’s ear. 

He shuddered, but carried on like nothing had happened. “No, of course not. They’re all I’ve got. Even if they can be… tiring. I might not want to spend my whole life as a part of the Garrison, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for them.” 

“Then let’s set something up. I’d like to meet them all.”

“Really?” Castiel lifted a brow and propped himself up on his arm. “You’d want to come out with us?”

“Sure. It might be fun. And I promise not to hustle any pool while I’m there,” Dean grinned. “Anyway, I only did it to impress you to begin with.”

Castiel snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep it in mind.” He still didn’t really like the idea, but it helped a little for him to feel like Dean was onboard with the whole idea. If he brought him to the diner, or maybe even Inias’s and Hester’s place, then chances were that things would be fine. They didn’t usually get up to any real trouble on those nights, maybe just dinner and some drinking.

“All right,” Castiel agreed after a few moments. This coming Wednesday, then. We’ll probably be at the diner, so it’ll be casual.” 

“Great. I’ll be there.” 

Dean was still grinning, and even in the dark, Castiel could tell how beautiful he was. He wanted him in that moment, and for once, rather than practicing restraint, he leaned in and finished what he started in the kitchen earlier. Dean’s lips parted against his almost too easily, like he had been waiting for him all night, and before he knew it, Dean was on his back beneath him, and his hands were under Dean’s shirt. 

They kissed slowly, Castiel determined to draw this out as long as possible before they were forced to return to a world where they were hardly allowed to touch. They had exposed tender parts of themselves to each other, and now he wanted to kiss Dean until their wounds started to heal. His mouth moved over Dean’s cheek, along his jaw, and when those calloused hands tried to lift his shirt, he stopped them and held them above Dean’s head while he went on pressing the gentlest kisses imaginable into his skin.

Castiel pressed a tender, almost reverent kiss to the skin just under Dean’s ear, and he heard him make a broken sound, caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. 

“Ca-as. Don’t stop,” Dean managed. “Please.” 

He had let go of Dean’s hands when he made the noise, thinking he had hurt him in some way, and when he sat back on his hips a little, he barely had time to notice the tears that had started in deep green eyes before Dean leaned up to bring their mouths together again. The kiss was fraught, much different from the way they had started, and he wondered what switch had flipped inside Dean that made him need this the way he did. It didn’t matter, of course. Dean could have asked almost anything of him, and he’d be willing to give it. But he hadn’t expected this turn, and it made him want to protect Dean more than ever. If John Winchester ever touched either of his sons again, Castiel was certain that all of heaven couldn’t keep the man safe from him. Dean clung to him, and Castiel held his face, felt the tears fall against his fingers while Dean took what he needed from their kiss. And when it seemed like Dean was going to shatter beneath him, and there was nothing more he could take from him, Castiel held him. 

“You’ll always be safe with me, Dean,” Castiel told him softly. “Let me take care of you. Just this once.” 

Dean pulled away just enough to look up at him, and Castiel kissed his forehead. He slid out of Dean’s lap, the tone between them having shifted to a different sort of intimacy than he had intended, but one he intended to preserve all the same. He scooted back so that his back was against the wall of the truck bed, and then pulled Dean back into his arms.

Dean came to him willingly, and fit himself against Castiel’s chest, where Castiel wrapped an arm around him, and slotted the fingers of his free hand with Dean’s matching one. When he looked up at the sky, he found it absolutely littered with stars, many of which hadn’t been there when they had first arrived in the field.

“Sam wants us to come and visit,” Dean said after a little while, his head tilted back against Castiel’s shoulder. He sounded a little dewy still, but like whatever had seized him was beginning to loosen its grip around his heart.  

“Us?” 

“Yes, us. He likes you. And he says it’s warmer now, so we can go skinny dipping with no issues.”  

“We’re not skinny dipping, Dean.” 

“Don’t think you could keep your hands off me? Even in front of my kid brother? You scoundrel.” He sounded more like himself again. Teasing. Grinning. 

Castiel rolled his eyes, “I did well enough to manage the first time around.” 

“Swimming then. You can manage it if we plan for trunks? And if I promise to make it all up to you when we’re alone again?” 

He could just hear the grin in Dean’s voice, and he reminded himself that it meant he was feeling better. Castiel looked back down at him, “I’ll do my best. I’m not making any promises.”

“‘Atta boy,” Dean leaned up enough to give him a brief kiss, which, of course, was enough to melt away any irritation he might have felt. When Dean pulled away, he settled back against Castiel’s chest, and looked up at the sky again.

“Hey, look, I think it’s starting,” Dean pointed to the sky with their joined hands. 

Castiel looked up just in time to see a falling star.

“Did you make a wish? If not, we’ll probably see another one in a few minutes. You can try again. Just keep your eyes peeled.” 

“I don’t think I’m allowed to make any more wishes,” Castiel told him as he watched for the next comet to streak across the sky. He already had Dean in his arms, and asking for more than that seemed greedy. 

Dean chuckled, “There’s not a cap, Cas. You just make them until you run out of things to wish for. No one’s counting. C’mon, next one we spot, we’ll make a wish for each other. Then it won’t even be a selfish wish. Deal?” 

Castiel nodded, and when they saw the next one, Dean squeezed his hand, and Castiel closed his eyes and made his wish.

“Did you make it?” Dean whispered against his ear.

“Yes. I wished-”

Dean shushed him, “Don’t tell me. Just kiss me and I’ll know. And you’ll know mine too.” 

Castiel didn’t know if he believed that, but he kissed Dean anyway. Slowly, sensuously, tenderly, the way he imagined a wish or secret might be passed between lovers. When he pulled away, Dean’s eyes were closed, and the tension he had seen in his face earlier in the evening had smoothed away. 

Castiel’s entire body was tingling.  

“If you kiss me just like that for the rest of my life, Castiel, I don’t think I’ll ever need to wish for anything else,” he said, the barest hint of a smile on his face. 

Castiel didn’t know if he believed that they had communicated their wishes to one another via kiss, but for the moment, _for now_ , he thought he understood Dean perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried to get this out before the end of June, but alas, I failed. A day late and a dollar short, as it were. Happy belated Pride to everyone. I've been dealing with a lot, as you all know but the real issue came about halfway through the chapter when I decided I didn't like where it was going and re-wrote a bunch of it, and decided to use the last half of it for the next chapter. So. That put me behind. 
> 
> Let's see, Cas mentions the theatre he gets his first blowie in was described to him as "An Emerald City." I made this euphemism up (I could find no historical basis for it) given that "Friends of Dorothy" was an actual phrase that was popular at the time, it seemed logical to use it as a descriptor for a place where it was common/mostly safe for people with Cas's proclivities to congregate. 
> 
> He also uses "Bank's closed" to tell Dean that he's not going to make-out with him anymore, and is promptly called an old man. It's 20's slang, so when Dean hears it, it just sounds really dated to him.
> 
> Chapter title is another Sinatra- "Close to You" If you haven't heard it, it's a really pretty song from earlier in Sinatra's career. I wasn't sure I was gonna use it for the chapter title, but then I wrote that end scene, and it just seemed to fit. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed getting a bit of a peek into Dean's backstory this go 'round. Things will eventually heat up/stakes will raise a bit for Cas in the next chapter, barring any further sudden course alterations.


	8. I've Got You Under My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot happens.

Castiel had been smoking steadily since lunch. The last couple of weeks of cutback might as well not have happened, because he was down to his last two cigarettes, and he was trying to talk himself out of stopping by the drugstore to pick up more before he went to get Dean. He really had been trying to quit, and before that afternoon, he would have said that it had been going well. Over the last few weeks, he had managed to get himself down to five a day—one when he got up in the morning, one before he went to bed at night, and one after each meal (though breakfast sometimes was just a smoke)—and on Gabe’s suggestion, he had recently taken to popping hard candy when he got the urge outside of those times. For a guy with more vices than Castiel cared to count, Gabriel had been surprisingly supportive of his efforts. Cutting back was difficult—he’d been smoking since he was a teenager, and had only gotten worse about it the older he got—but he liked Dean, very much, and he wanted to do his best to be better for him. Dean had never made a fuss about his smoking outside of forbidding it in his truck and the shop, but Castiel knew he’d prefer it if he didn’t do it at all. 

Of course, the stress of the mere idea of having Dean in close proximity with the Garrison had completely killed any progress he had managed for himself. 

He sighed and made his decision. Two would have to do him. Once he picked Dean up, there would be no going back, so there was no point in further setting himself up for failure. Barring any disasters, he could get himself back on track to quitting once the whole ordeal was over. 

He popped a Lifesaver and shoved the rest of the roll into his front pocket before he rode to the shop to get Dean. He’d need to make his two cigarettes last for the rest of the night—he was sure the others would do something to set him on edge—so he might as well start now. 

 

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine,” Dean murmured into his ear as they pulled into the diner’s parking lot half an hour later. His hand was under Castiel’s shirt, and he pulled his fingers along his abdomen in soothing lines, until he had to pull away for the sake of decency. Thankfully, his Garrison jacket, which he wore as a show of good faith despite the heat, kept any of Dean’s movements that might have seemed suspicious hidden. Actually, Castiel couldn’t help but be impressed at how Dean was able to maintain touching him casually or discretely enough in public that it didn’t alarm anyone. A hand on his shoulder or a pat on the back looked casual enough, while the both of them knew what those touches actually meant. He was particularly fond of this habit of putting his hands beneath his shirt while they rode. It was probably the most intimate and vaguely daring of his public caresses, and as a result, always made Castiel feel a little like he had sparks going off under his skin.

“You say that, and you haven’t even met them all yet. Did I mention that Hester hates me?”

Dean rolled his eyes and tapped the back of his hand against Castiel’s chest, “Well, it’s a good thing that I don’t. And that she isn’t the only one I’m here to see. I don’t know what the big deal is, Cas. It’s not like they haven’t been to the shop before, even if I didn’t know who was who at the time, I’ve spoken to some of them before.” 

Castiel didn’t bother saying more than that, and instead sucked a pineapple flavored Lifesaver into his mouth. Dean had no idea what they were walking into.

“I didn’t know you liked that sort of thing,” Dean said as Castiel shoved the roll back into his pants pocket.

“I don’t.” 

It was around dinner time, and so, apart from the Garrison, sprawled at their usual corner booth, the diner was generally busy, with busboys running from table to table behind departing groups. Castiel let Dean go in ahead of him, mistakenly thinking that he’d have no trouble making his way toward the group of people in the jackets that matched his own. Instead, Dean made a beeline for the jukebox, which was just across from the door and, mercifully, far enough from the Garrison, that they didn’t notice Castiel not coming directly over.     

“Dean, what are you doing?” Castiel stood just behind him and questioned him from over his shoulder so he would see the exact moment his friends noticed they were there. 

Dean’s attention was on the jukebox, a silly grin on his face, “Lighten up, Cas. If I’m gonna meet your friends, I think we need an appropriate soundtrack. We’ll go over as soon as I find it.” He pressed some buttons, and patted the side of the machine fondly, “Mr. Cash will do nicely.” He winked at Castiel from over his shoulder before he headed for the table.

Castiel followed behind him, and tried not to look as uneasy as he felt as they approached and the lines  _ Bound by wild desire/ I fell in to a ring of fire  _ rolled out over the speakers. Dean was terrible.  

“Castiel!” Josiah jumped up as soon as Castiel was within spitting distance, his smile bright and welcoming. It was times like this that reminded Castiel that he was really just a kid still. “You made it. We weren’t sure…who’s this?”

“Take a breath, Joe,” Anna cut him short, “And make some room for them.”

Everyone shuffled around, and someone pulled a chair over for Castiel to use, while Dean slid in next to Anna, who didn’t look all that upset about the arrangement.

Castiel reminded himself that she wasn’t aware that he and Dean were, he hesitated to use the phrase “going steady,” but it was the best he could come up with, which in any other situation would have made Dean off-limits to her. As it was, he was just going to have to pretend that he was all right with Anna’s passes and try to make his Lifesavers last through the rest of the night. She wasn’t as concerned with whether or not Dean was taken by someone outside of the group as Castiel had been before he’d found out the truth, so he wasn’t surprised she’d take her opportunity while she had him close. He cleared his throat, and distracted himself by making introductions.

Dean smiled and waved or shook hands, charming as always. Even in yellow light and crammed into a booth full of people he didn’t really know, he looked radiant. It was funny, because Castiel had never seen Dean around so many people at once, but he looked completely at ease. He didn’t know how he managed it. That level of surety with himself even when surrounded by strangers. No wonder he did so well with customers at the shop. It made Castiel ache. He wanted to be alone with him again, to kiss him, or at least to be able to sit next to him without the fear that just being near Dean would give him away. If he could have, he would have pulled out his sketchbook right then and drawn him again. He worked on committing him and the sound of his laugh to memory instead.

“So, you’re the one he’s been ditching us for every other night?” Hester leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table. “How’d he find you? He’s not exactly Mister Social.” She could always be relied upon to give the least tactful, most cutting remarks she could think of at any given time. 

“He’s that mechanic, right?” Gabriel reached for a french fry and quirked a brow at Dean as dipped it into his milkshake. “The one we use after races sometimes. Over by the, uh, reservoir, right?” 

“He fixed my bike,” Castiel told them. “After that race with the Devils. Gave me a good deal on it.” 

Dean glanced at his lap in time to hide a smile Castiel knew had been meant for him. He hadn’t meant anything by it—Dean had practically fixed it for free—but he realized that Dean thought he was being coy, and he found it kind of amusing himself.

“You mean that race where you and Anna handed them their asses,” Gabriel laughed, and everyone else laughed with him. For all of his vices, he had that gift in his favor. He could always keep things light, make people laugh. A skill that seemed to have evaded Castiel for most of his own life.

He didn’t miss the impressed glance Dean gave him, and he unrolled another Lifesaver as Anna propped her arm on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Don’t let them fool you,” she leaned into him a little, “I did all the hard work. But Castiel was there for much needed moral support. It’s always good to have your second close by when the stakes are high.” She gave Castiel a sly wink. 

Dean smirked at her from over his shoulder, “I can believe that. Do you always do the driving?”

“More or less. It just depends on what the stakes are. Castiel and Hess are better chicken drivers-”

“Which is about the only thing they have in common,” Gabriel snorted. 

Anna rolled her eyes, “-so if it’s something like that rather than a straight race, then we’ll usually get one of them to do it. Or Joe’s not bad in a pinch. You oughta come to one sometime. See me in action.” 

‘Obvious,’ was not an adjective that Castiel tended to use to describe his best friend, but he didn’t think there was another word for how clearly the double meaning in her words came across.

Dean laughed, the nervous sounding one he had used when they had visited the Carnation Club and  _ Maurice _ had been just as obvious, “I dunno. I’m not sure it’s really my thing. I like to fix cars, not see ‘em wrecked. Though, I’m not sure I wouldn’t mind seeing Castiel in one of those chicken races you mentioned. I didn’t know he was so daring.” 

Castiel half expected one of the others to call her out just to give her a hard time, and really, he wished they would, but he knew that if they did, it wouldn’t be in front of Dean. They’d wait until they were all hanging out alone, and there wasn’t an outsider around to listen to them tease their leader.

“There are probably a lot of things you don’t know about him,” Gabriel said instead. “Cassy likes to keep it aloof. But all that inherent stoicism apparently works well when you need to stare down the barrel of a gun.” 

Castiel didn’t like chicken races, even if he was good at them. They were a pointless display of ego in his opinion, and a good way to get yourself killed if you didn’t know what you were doing. Which was why he usually volunteered when they came up. It made him less anxious to do them himself than to put one of the other guys at risk. He was fairly certain Hester was good only because she had no regard for either her life or the other person’s when she drove, so he wasn’t entirely sure they had as much in common there as Gabriel thought.

“Apparently not for poker though,” Dean said, a knowing grin on his face as he glanced Castiel’s direction.    

Gabriel’s brows lifted, but a waitress came by to check on them in time to put an end to the conversation. Castiel bit his Lifesaver in half as he watched Anna order for herself and Dean, still draped over Dean’s shoulder, like they were already a couple. A few of the others ordered, and Castiel settled for black coffee, his appetite having fled entirely. 

He reminded himself that there was no reason to be jealous. Dean wasn’t even really being any more friendly than he usually was, Anna was putting in all the effort there. But it was hard to ignore how easy it was to look at the two of them and think that they were together. No one would ever have that thought about him and Dean, and if they ever did, they’d probably find themselves worse off for it. There were a lot of things in the world that Castiel accepted as being unfair, but this was probably the most difficult for him to swallow. Watching Anna flirt and tease in hopes of hooking Dean was enough to set his teeth on edge, and he tried to focus on his coffee instead once it came. She had always been bold when it came to that sort of thing, so it wasn’t any surprise, but he didn’t have to like it, and Dean didn’t have to look so goddamn easy about everything all the time.    

“You all right, Castiel?” Josiah was looking at him expectantly. “I think you’ve been even quieter than usual tonight.”

“I’m fine,” Castiel told him, and tried to relax his jaw as Anna and Gabe laughed at something Dean said. He wasn’t being ignored, per se. Most nights went like this if they were at the diner, except he was usually sitting where Dean was now. He just didn’t like the noise—everyone talking over each other and the jukebox—so if he had a conversation, it was usually with Anna, or someone else on the side. Otherwise, he sat and waited for everyone to get bored or finish eating, and then amble on to the next thing. He just didn’t feel much like talking when the few things he had said had been shot down by Hester, and while the guy he was secretly seeing was being pursued by his best friend.

“It’s just, we’ve all missed you lately, so I wanted you to know we’re glad you’re back, is all.” Josiah self-consciously adjusted his jacket, as Castiel looked over at him.  

“Thank you, Joe. That... means a lot to me.”

Josiah flashed a grin, “Hope so,” he muttered. “So, is Dean… are you gonna get him to join up or something? You don’t usually bring anyone around.”

Castiel had taken another drink of his nearly cold coffee, and found his attention torn from Josiah’s question before he had time to answer it. 

“It’d be fun, right?” Anna had reached across the table to get his attention. “You, Ingrid, Gabe and his new girl, Dean and me at the amusement park this weekend? Inias and Carla too if he wants. A Garrison takeover.”

“Does it count as a ‘takeover’ if only couples are invited,” Hester said flatly. 

Anna gave her a sharp look and Hester lifted her hands to show she wouldn’t say any more on the subject. At least Hester could be counted on to give Anna just as hard of a time as she gave Castiel.

“So? What do you say? Fun, right?”   

“I need a smoke,” Castiel said in lieu of a proper answer. Lifesavers were absolutely not going to cut it for this.  

“Weren’t you trying to quit?” Gabriel asked around a mouthful of food. 

Castiel shot him a dirty look and wrestled his nearly empty pack out of his shirt pocket as he left the table. 

 

Anyone else would have stopped out front to smoke. They’d have been quick about it, unless someone came out to join them, in which case they’d stand around and chat a while, and then popped back in just as quick as they had finished their cigarette. As it was, Castiel wasn’t in the mood to rejoin the party any time soon, and he didn’t want to be bothered with small talk. Or any other kind of talk, for that matter. Certainly not talk about couples and amusement parks. He made his way around the side of the building, the alleyway where the dumpsters were. The employee exit was there, but dumpsters afforded a little privacy, and if he leaned against the wall or crouched down, his odds of being noticed if anyone came out decreased markedly.  

He should be pleased. His friends liked Dean. They wouldn’t have let him stick around if they hadn’t taken to him already. It was just that he couldn’t be pleased when Anna was so clearly gunning for him, and there was nothing either of them could do to put her off. He knew Dean hadn’t actively been encouraging her—he was friendly, and a bit of a natural flirt—but that didn’t stop Castiel feeling irrationally jealous at seeing Anna draped across Dean’s shoulder. He didn’t think he could take an entire day specifically designed for her to have an excuse to hold his hand or ride next to him on a ferris wheel. He needed to figure out a way to wiggle out of it, particularly if Dean intended on going. 

“I hate to say it, but if you  _ are _ trying to quit, you’re doing a piss-poor job.” Dean’s hands were tucked into his front pockets as he approached, seemingly from out of nowhere. 

Castiel had been too deep in his own head to notice him sooner, and flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “It’s a process,” he said flatly. 

Dean stopped just in front of him, and Castiel took another drag, because as much as he was trying to give it up, his nerves wouldn’t allow him to put it out just yet. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Dean asked, his eyes falling to the Lucky between Castiel’s fingers. 

“Not really. No,” he said stubbornly. Dean hadn’t needed to follow him out. “You should go back in and enjoy yourself. I’m sure Anna will be more than happy to split a milkshake with you.” 

“You think?” Dean stepped closer.

Castiel pressed his back against the wall, and nodded once, “All you’d have to do is ask.” He knew he should put his cigarette out with Dean so near, but was it his fault if Dean managed to find him every time he decided he wanted to light up? He had gone out of the way so he wasn’t bothered, and yet here Dean was, perfect and, for the moment, untouchable. He thought he deserved to be forgiven for smoking when those were his circumstances. Besides, he was only halfway through it, and they were never as good the second time around, so he didn’t want to put it out now. He hadn’t bought a new pack, and if he put it out, he’d be tucking it right back into the pack with the other one. 

“Really? Because I think,” Dean moved closer still, and rested his arm against the wall above Castiel’s head, “...that you got jealous in there. I think you’ve been jealous since I sat down next to Anna.”

And there it was. Castiel wondered if he was that transparent to everyone, or if Dean could just read him better than most. He turned his head to take a drag and Dean leaned in and pressed a kiss to his neck. Castiel nearly choked on the smoke as he let it out in uneven puffs. “What are you doing? Someone might-” 

Dean kissed him again, this time a little lower down. “Someone might,” he agreed. “But I think I’m willing to take that chance right now. Aren’t you?” He grinned and used both hands to tug Castiel’s shirt free from his pants.

Castiel was willing to do a great many things, a lot of them illegal or dangerous, but resisting Dean Winchester was not one of them.

This was a monumentally bad idea. Castiel knew it like he knew the sky was blue and the grass was green. He knew it like he knew his hair or eye color, or that he’d never like kissing any girl half as much as he liked kissing Dean. It was a certain and immutable fact, and yet, here he was, with Dean’s hands on his belt, and his half-smoked Lucky on the ground, because he had abandoned it the second Dean’s mouth had found his.     

The sun hadn’t been gone for long, but Castiel was grateful he had decided to come out once it had set. The dark afforded them an extra layer of protection, though if anyone decided to investigate, there would be no explaining away their current position. He gasped and curled his fists into Dean’s shirt as he felt Dean’s hand slip into his trousers and grope him shamelessly. He hadn’t even noticed him undoing his fly. 

“You okay?” Dean murmured against his ear, his grip on him easing just a little as he twisted his wrist.

Castiel couldn’t see Dean’s face, but everything in him told him Dean found the situation amusing. He nodded desperately, and then remembered he was supposed to be the one with all the self-control. When they got started like this, Dean generally seemed unable or unwilling to put him off, even when they both knew that he should, so it was usually up to Castiel to put a stop to things. “You better make it worth it if this is how I go to prison,” Castiel ground out, completely unable to keep the desire out of his voice, despite the fact that his brain was still screaming at him that this was the worst idea in the world. 

Dean chuckled, low and husky, against his ear “You got it, baby. Here, give me your jacket, and be quick about it.” He kissed him, extracted his hand from Castiel’s pants, and stepped back. 

Castiel felt chills run along his body. Dean had never used a pet name for him before, no one had—he wasn’t even particularly sure about whether or not he liked it—but he wasted no time in doing what Dean asked of him. 

“Thank you,” Dean said lightly. He folded it in half with the inside out, and then dropped it carefully on the ground in front of him before getting to his knees on it. Once he was comfortable, he ran his hands up Castiel’s thighs, and carefully hooked his fingers over the waistband of his pants. 

Castiel had watched all of this, his breath caught in his chest, and it took him longer than it should have to realize what exactly Dean had in mind. His eyes widened, and he gripped Dean’s forearms, “You- Dean...this isn’t a good idea,” he managed finally. It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need to ask, because he knew, categorically, that this was an awful idea. He just didn’t think he had much willpower at all when it came to the idea of putting an end to it. This is one time where Dean would have to put a stop to it in order for him to resist the temptation to let it all happen exactly as it was. 

Dean looked up at him through sinfully long lashes, “No, it’s not. But we’ve already been over that.” He let his fingers inch up along the skin beneath Castiel’s shirt, before he ran his hands up and down his thighs again, and curled them back over his waistband. “You know, I’m inclined to think that the two of us might secretly like the thrill of it. The risk. What with me being caught once before, and you finding yourself in a similar situation in public cinema.” He tugged down on Castiel’s pants, “Is this all that different? Wouldn’t you rather have this memory with me than that one with a faceless stranger?” He grinned, and tugged a little more at Castiel’s pants until he was completely exposed.

“And if we’re caught?” Castiel asked in an effort to maintain some level of reason. It was fading fast though, particularly when Dean’s perfect mouth was right there, and all he had to do was open it. 

“Better if we’re not,” Dean told him. And that was it. He didn’t bother making any further arguments, just gripped Castiel firmly and leaned in and guided him carefully into his mouth.

It was, quite possibly, the most exquisite sensation he had ever experienced. He slid his hands into Dean’s hair, and let his head fall back against the brick behind him as his hips arched toward utter pleasure. Dean knew exactly how to move his tongue, exactly when to pull off or stay right where he was. He hummed and hollowed his cheeks, and didn’t seem to mind too much when Castiel pulled his hair or tried to press himself deeper into the silk of his mouth.  _ Christ. _ He had been right. There was something thrilling in doing this in a place where they might be discovered. Every little noise he heard sent a spike of terror through him that Dean seemed only to be able to use to his advantage.

And when he felt the pressure building, felt himself drawing ever closer, and tried to let Dean know by pulling his hips back and hissing his name, Dean only sucked him harder and deeper.

Castiel’s back arched against the brick wall behind him, and he shoved a fist against his mouth as he moaned, unable to keep totally silent while such pleasure broke over him. The other hand, he kept fisted in Dean’s hair until he felt him pull away and press a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

Dean got to his feet and bent to pick up Castiel’s jacket, a look of shy satisfaction on his face as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Good?” he asked. He shook the jacket out and glanced at Castiel, who was still pressed unsteadily against the wall. 

“Anna’s going to send out a search party soon,” Castiel croaked. He reached for Dean and pulled him in roughly by the front of his shirt, before kissing him fervently. 

Dean still held the jacket between their bodies, but he managed to find a way to touch Castiel’s face. Eventually, it was him that broke their kiss, and he pushed Castiel’s jacket into his chest to force some space between them. 

Castiel felt breathless. Hearing Dean’s equally breathless chuckle, and watching as he bit his lower lip and glanced shyly from his mouth to his shoulder and back again, did absolutely nothing to make Castiel feel like he was going to be able to breathe again any time soon.  

“Let’s… get you put away,” Dean teased, his expression thoroughly amused as he moved to tuck Castiel back into his clothing. “Think you can manage to make it through the rest of the night now?” He zipped Castiel’s fly, much more slowly than was really necessary, and swatted his hands away, when Castiel fumbled to hold his jacket in one hand and tried to finish putting himself together on his own with the other. When Dean seemed satisfied, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “As much as I find it funny when you get jealous, don’t forget that you’re the only one I’m interested in, Cas,” he whispered. He gave him another quick kiss and then stepped back, “Now, wait a few minutes and then come in after me, all right?” 

“Hang on,” Castiel, finally managed. Dean had his head spinning, and it was taking even longer than usual for his brain to catch up with his body. He tossed his jacket over one shoulder and then reached for the comb he kept in his back pocket. Dean’s hair was short, but it was long enough to have been displaced by having had Castiel’s fingers in it. When he finished, he fixed Dean’s collar, and tucked his comb away again. “Here,” he traded his comb for his Lifesavers and dropped one into Dean’s palm. “See you inside.” 

Dean grinned and practically floated out of the alley.

 

When Castiel found his way out of the alley and came around to enter the diner again,  he found Hester outside smoking. Seeing her smoking reminded him of the half-finished Lucky that he had left, forgotten, in the alley. He’d have called it a waste if the trade-off hadn’t been so satisfying. 

“Feel better?” Hester drew the words out, almost to comical effect, except that she wasn’t really what Castiel would call funny, and her delivery was entirely flat. 

“I’m fine,” he said slowly. Hester did not often ask how he was. She usually made assumptions, and then capped them with an insult.

She didn’t bother to look at him, but nodded like she thought he might say that. “Only you flew out of here like Hell was on your heels, so I thought you might have needed more than a smoke to settle you.”   

Castiel frowned. “Like Gabe said, I’m trying to quit. I… had a moment of weakness.” He made to change the subject, “Should you be out here on your own? Anna-” 

Hester snorted, and flicked ash from the tip of her cigarette, “I’ll bet. I can take care of myself, Castiel. Can you?” 

The question caught him out, his head swimming with the images of how exactly he had just been taken care of, and it took him a moment to answer her. “I’m going inside,” he told her. “Don’t be long.” 

“Yessir,” she said with a mock salute. 

Castiel went inside feeling significantly more uneasy than he should have after his little escapade with Dean. Still, he could practically feel Dean’s hands on him, his mouth, how good it had all felt, and that was more than enough to chase away any concerns he might have had about Hester for the time being. 

 

“Dean-o, here, apparently doesn’t like heights,” Gabe announced when Castiel sat back down at the table, “So we’re all off the hook for the amusement park. No fun if the guy can’t even ride a roller coaster with all of us.”

Dean offered a half-smile, and Castiel realized that he had forgotten how nervous Dean had been just on his fire escape. It made sense that he wouldn’t like the idea of roller coasters or ferris wheels. And it made Castiel want to kiss him again. 

“I still think we should do something else,” Anna said. “All of us together.” What she really meant was that she still wanted an excuse to pair up with Dean and eventually have her way with him, but Castiel did his best to put the thought out of his mind. 

Dean wasn’t sitting next to her anymore, as everyone had shifted to fill Hester’s space, and Dean now sat across from her on the other end of the booth. Castiel hated to admit it, but he was glad he wouldn’t have to watch her flirt around him for the rest of the night.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Dean started, “But it’s busy enough for me in the summer at work. And then I’m supposed to go visit my kid brother at some point, so maybe it’s best if we just take an indefinite rain check.” 

“There are two of you?” Ingrid asked. “Where’s your brother? Do you know him too, Castiel?”  

Dean chuckled, “Nah. Sammy’s not like me. But he does like Cas, so I guess we’ve got that in common. He’s staying with our uncle for the summer, and he called and said he missed me, so I figured I’d go visit.”

“Oh, looks  _ and  _ a heart of gold.” Hester had made her reappearance and dragged up another chair to sit in the wrong way round rather than squeeze her way back into the booth. The diner had emptied out a little, and their group was now far and away the most lively. “No wonder you’re so well liked.” She folded her arms across the back of the chair and leaned forward, “Say, you ever thought about joining up with a gang? I’m sure you’ve been asked.”

“Lay off, Hess,” Anna said evenly.

“I’m just askin’. Joe wanted to know too. If he’s Castiel’s friend, surely it’s come up. I mean, it must’ve. He’s been spending all this time with the guy, so it only makes sense. Honestly, I’m surprised Castiel hadn’t brought him in already. It’s not like him to be so inefficient. Guy’s usually a machine when it comes to getting things done.” 

“He’s square,” Gabe added. “Give it a rest.”

Things had gotten uneasy. Hester had asked things everyone had been wondering, but no one really wanted to ask. Even Josiah’s question had been more of a friendly inquiry, and not nearly as public as this.

Anna and Dean were staring at Castiel, and Josiah and Gabe were staring at their laps, while everyone else sat in uncomfortable silence. Everyone except Hester anyway. She mostly just looked smug. 

“I didn’t want to join up,” Dean said finally. “When this guy came to get his bike fixed,” he jerked a thumb in Castiel’s direction, “I nearly threw him out for trying to smoke in my shop. No way I was going to join up with him. He looked a little pathetic with those sad puppy eyes of his though, so I cut him a break.” 

There was a small break of laughter, and just like that, it seemed like Dean had recovered the situation. 

“I don’t think there’s a thing on this planet Castiel loves more than that bike,” Gabriel joked. “He’d have killed Al if I hadn’t been there to hold him back that day.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes, “I wouldn’t have killed him.”

“No, you’d have just put him in intensive care,” Anna said with an equally dramatic roll of her eyes. “Go on and admit you’d never go steady with any girl who couldn’t stand the thought of you giving that bike more attention than you would her.”

Dean laughed a little at that, “C’mon, don’t tease him too much. I’m not much better off. I spend all my waking hours with cars and my little brother.”

“And Castiel, Anna said flatly. “You’re a match made in heaven.”

Dean flushed, and Castiel stared at him because hearing Anna say that, even as a joke, made his chest tighten.

  
  


“They weren’t that bad, you know.” Dean had just finished up an oil change and was wiping his hands on a grease smeared rag, while Castiel watched him from a stool inside the closed-up garage. Castiel liked the days he was able to watch Dean work, or even to watch him clean everything at the end of the night. He always looked so relaxed among the cars and his tools, and it struck Castiel that Dean, unlike so many other people that he knew, including himself, had a genuine love for his work. 

After they had left the diner the other night, Castiel had dropped Dean off and rejoined Anna and Gabriel, who had somehow managed to snag Inias after the date he had been on with Carla, for a few more hours. He hadn’t really wanted to—he would have rather spent the night re-enacting his alleyway rendevouz with Dean as many times as either of them could stand—but Hester had left him feeling uneasy, and he had told Dean that it was best if he joined back up with them like they probably expected. Hester had left with a group of the others by the time he got back, and so it was just the four of them hanging out in Anna’s convertible in the diner’s parking lot. Gabe and Anna caught Inias up on the night’s proceedings with no shortage of teasing or bad jokes, and they discussed Hester’s behavior, and pretended no one noticed that Castiel and Dean seemed a little closer than was usual for anyone that wasn’t part of their inner circle. It was the closest he had felt to any of them in a while, and he didn’t like to think about the fact that it had come on the heels of their meeting Dean, which he had avoided since before they had realized their feelings for each other. If he had introduced them sooner, would it have changed anything? 

“Well, I mean, maybe Hester was. I think she must not have liked me by association. But the rest of them seemed okay. I don’t know what you were worried about.” 

“And if it wasn’t me who had brought you in, you think she would have liked you fine?” Castiel lifted a skeptical brow. 

Dean grinned and wheeled his tools to the corner of the shop, “Sure she would have. I’m gorgeous  _ and  _ charming, remember? What's not to like?”

Castiel got up and tossed a rag in Dean’s direction to show him what he thought of his idea of a joke. It fell just short of him, so it wasn’t entirely satisfying, but Dean’s ensuing laugh was a fair enough substitute.

“Don’t be sore at me, Cas. I’m just repeating what you said,” Dean teased as he grabbed the rag and came close enough to straighten Castiel’s collar with his free hand. “Anyway, I thought you’d be pleased. I had to run the risk of looking lame by telling them I’m afraid of heights so we could get out of going to the amusement park. I thought you’d explode with jealousy if I agreed to go.”

“You are afraid of heights,” Castiel told him, already half intoxicated by Dean’s nearness. He had thought that the longer they were together, the less intense his reactions to him would become. It was slowly becoming clear to him that that was not the case for him, and in all likelihood never would be. 

“Yeah, but we could have gone. I wouldn’t have minded watching. Have done with Sam before. I was just trying to minimize the damage.” Dean’s eyes were on his, and it felt like they were reflections of one another. It always did when they were this close, like if Dean looked away from him, he’d cease to exist.

“Well,” Castiel cleared his throat and tried to save whatever face he had left, “you had me exploding anyway, didn’t you?” 

It seemed to take Dean a moment to process what he meant, but once he did, he blushed almost instantly, and chuckled awkwardly. Castiel couldn’t help himself. He pulled him into a kiss. It didn’t last very long. He didn’t think he’d have it in him to make himself stop if it had, but it had been exactly what he had needed since he had arrived at the shop that evening. He hadn’t seen Dean in a few days, and the rest of the week had seemed to go on longer than was natural because of it. 

“You just taste like candy all the time now,” Dean teased. “Shockingly enough, I think I like it better than the ashtray.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, “I’m glad someone is benefitting from my trying to quit. Because it’s hell. I hate it. I’ve never cared for sweets. I don’t know how Gabriel does it all the time. Or how anyone goes without smoking at all.”

“I assure you, we all manage just fine.” Dean gave him another soft kiss, and Castiel nearly forgot what it was he had been complaining about. “Can I stay with you for the weekend?” Dean asked, his voice low, like they were sharing a secret, despite the fact that they were totally alone in the garage. “I have the half day here tomorrow, but your place is closer anyway, so I can just walk over in the morning. Maybe we go visit Sammy after? You could follow me home tonight, and I’ll just leave the truck once I grab a change of clothes and my toothbrush.”  

“You don’t need to ask,” Castiel told him. He lifted his hands to Dean’s face and brushed his thumbs along his jaw. “Just tell me when you’re ready.” Dean hadn’t stayed overnight with him since the night they had confessed their feelings to one another, but he felt now as he had then: his door would always be open to the Winchesters.

 

Castiel awoke the next morning with far more room in his bed than he expected, given that he had fallen asleep with Dean pressed against him. It wasn’t until he looked at the clock that he realized Dean had probably already gotten up and walked to the garage. 

He sighed and rolled over onto his back. He would have liked to have walked over with him. Or had breakfast together. Or kissed him goodbye. He groaned and covered his face with his hands. He’d never have heard the end of it if Anna or any of the others ever found out how stupidly domestic he’d become.

They’d had dinner together—he’d helped Dean prepare something light—and they’d spent the better part of the night doing a good deal more than kissing, all of which had taken place in his bed, which meant that he probably needed to do laundry before he met Dean after work. He hadn’t really expected it, the way Dean had practically torn his clothes off, or the sounds Dean had made when he returned the favor from the alleyway, but he loved every single second of it. Even the awkward parts, like the time he’d spent trying to figure out how to move his mouth in exactly the way Dean liked, or the good-natured laugh that he got when Dean touched him in a new place and he came unexpectedly. 

After, they had discussed their plans for the rest of the weekend—visiting Sam for the afternoon, and what they’d have for lunch. Though if he hadn’t been so terrified of the thought, he’d have been willing to talk about making plans for the rest of their lives. Being with Dean made him feel like he could have that. That there might be more to his life than endless days at the factory and aimless nights with the Garrison. He couldn’t think like that though. Not with the Garrison and whatever maybe was or wasn’t brewing on the streets hanging over his head. He needed to stay grounded. This was good,  _ for now _ , but thinking too far ahead, letting himself have expectations, was a good way to get himself disappointed. And where Dean was concerned, he didn’t think he could stand the thought.       

When he finally got up, he stripped the bed, and went to have a shower, and get dressed. Coffee was next, and he was pleasantly surprised to find that Dean had left him a note in his neat, evenly-spaced handwriting.

 

**_No time for breakfast in bed. Make it up to you later. Promise!_ **

**_XOXO -Dean_ **

**_P.S. What do you say to a repeat of last night? I’ll take care of you if you’ll let me._ **

 

Castiel couldn’t stop reading the words. He wouldn’t have been any more surprised if Dean had declared to everyone in town that they were seeing one another. He loved it. It thrilled and warmed and terrified him, all in equal turns. Because just those few words printed on a scrap of paper were physical proof that his feelings for Dean were at least a little mutual. It scared him to think that Dean could be just having him on, which was a thought that sometimes crept up when he was in a particularly dark mood, but the thought that Dean could want what he wanted, but refused to let himself be too invested in because of everything that could go wrong, was almost scarier. 

He ran his thumb along the ink, and then took the note and tucked it into one of his sketch diaries. Wherever this took them, he’d always have that small scrap to remind him that they were happy together.

 

Castiel put the laundry out to dry, smoked while he did it, and then packed the small day bag that he and Dean had discussed the night before—swim trunks, his sketch diary, a thermos of water, and enough space for sandwiches and colas they were going to buy on the way up. He felt light, and he was excited to get to visit Sam with Dean. They hadn’t seen him for a few weeks, and he missed the way Sam could talk to him and not mind that he didn’t say much, and on occasion intuit what it was he might have said if he’d been able to find the right words. His conversations with Dean were easier than they had been when he had been fighting his attraction to him, and oftentimes they still spoke in looks more than words, but he missed Sam’s company. 

Unfortunately, when he pulled up to the garage, Dean was not waiting eagerly for him to arrive. Instead, he was bent over car in the garage, one Castiel was sure he recognized, but couldn’t be bothered to place at the moment. He parked his bike, and approached the garage just in time to hear Dean let out a string of swears from under the hood. 

“Careful there, Sailor.” It was meant as a joke, but with the way Dean tensed before he pulled his head from under the hood, he wasn’t sure it succeeded. 

“Oh, Cas, it’s you,” Dean let out a long sigh, and managed to look exhausted. Castiel wanted to take him in his arms. “I thought you were another customer. I try to keep it clean around them.” 

“I’m not early, am I? I thought you said noon…”

“No, no, I did.” He sighed again, and tucked the wrench he was holding into the pocket of his jumpsuit. “It’s just, that guy from a while back, the one I changed the fuse for, said he was having more trouble, and needs it back by the end of the day. If I hadn’t already done work for him so recently, I’d tell him he was out of luck, but it’s not like I couldn’t use the money, and I’m not sure it’s something I shouldn’t have caught the first time around. I really need to look into hiring another guy.”

“Well, I can just wait here for you,” Castiel offered. “I don’t mind keeping you company while you work. Or I’ll keep out of the way.”

Dean gave him a pained smile in return, “No, we’ll be too late getting to Bobby’s if we wait for me to finish. You go, and I’ll call and tell Sammy I can’t make it, but I’m sending my proxy.” He let out another long sigh, and Castiel knew that choosing between his brother and his livelihood was not an easy choice for Dean to make. 

“I think I’ll be a pale substitute,” Castiel admitted. “He misses you. I’m sure he’d rather see you than me. It’s a shame I can’t stay and do the work for you.”

Dean laughed a little, “No kidding. Then I could just hire you and pay you in favors,” he lifted his eyebrows suggestively.

Castiel snorted and shook his head, “Unfortunately,  _ favors _ don’t pay the electric bill.”

 “I’d take care of you,” Dean scoffed. “Anyway don’t talk like that. He asked me to bring you along. And I miss him too. But I’ll still be here at the end of the summer when he comes back.”  He rolled the sleeves on his jumpsuit back and glanced at the car before sighing again, and then perking up like he had just remembered something he’d forgotten. “Hey, come with me before you go. I have something for you.” He headed for the office, and Castiel followed him obediently. 

He wasn’t sure how much he liked the idea of showing up to Bobby’s without Dean, but he wasn’t really keen on the idea of disappointing Sam either. Still, he supposed if Dean was all right with it, he should be too.  

“I wanted to give it to you once we were with Sam since it was kind of his idea, but since plans have changed, I don’t think he’d mind.” Dean went around the desk and pulled a box wrapped in newspaper out of the bottom drawer. 

“My birthday is in December,” Castiel said dumbly.

Dean laughed, the sound full and warm, “Good to know. Think of it as a ‘thank you’ gift or something. Like I said, it was Sam’s idea, but the execution was all Yours, Truly. Just open it, all right? Before I have to get back to work.” 

Castiel carefully tore the paper from the box, and then lifted the flap on the cardboard. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had given him a gift for no reason. Several seconds passed, and he peered blankly into the box, totally speechless.

Dean chuckled anxiously, “Say something, wouldja? You’re making me nervous.” 

Castiel glanced up at him and then finally lifted the camera out of the box. He turned it between his hands, opened the panel on it, and the lens extended smoothly for him.

“It’s nothing fancy, I know. It was mom’s, but I took it to the shop in the city, and the guy there was nice enough to show me everything I’d need to do to make sure it worked right. We figured it was better you get some use out of it. I know you mentioned Gabriel breaking your old one, and it seemed like a good idea when Sam suggested it. If you don’t like-”

“I love you,” Castiel said quickly. He had nearly dropped the camera when Dean said it had belonged to his mother, and then he had gotten caught up in Dean’s always adorable rambling, and it had just come out. There were a few seconds of silence where the both of them seemed to slowly come upon the realization of what he’d just said. “It-it’s a great camera,” he started, trying desperately not to make himself look like more of a fool than he already did. “I love it. I love you both for thinking of it. It’s perfect, really. Thank you.” He was cursing himself, over and over again, and while he really wanted to hug or kiss Dean, he didn’t think he could manage it without making things awkward. How had ‘I love you,’ just slipped out? He did better when he kept his mouth shut. He was pretty sure it was true though. He didn’t know how else to describe what Dean did to him. And he certainly had never felt like this for anyone else before. He wanted to crawl out of himself, evaporate into nothing, and pretend he’d never said anything at all. Because if ‘I love you,’ scared Dean off, he’d never be able to forgive himself. They were together  _ for now _ , but he couldn’t say he really expected it to last. Either Dean’s charm and beauty would move him firmly into someone else’s field of vision, or his own life—the Garrison, the danger involved, and the lack of direction he had for himself would get in the way.  

Dean rubbed his hand awkwardly along the back of his neck, and gave him a small smile, “I’m glad you think so. Sammy will be too. We, uh, better get on with things. I’ve gotta finish this job, and you should get on the road.” 

“Yeah.” It didn’t feel right. He didn’t want to just leave with this discomfort between them. Especially not when things had been so good lately. “Here,” he said finally, and he pulled his apartment key from his pocket, and placed it in Dean’s hand. “I locked up when I left, so you should take this to get back in,” he told him, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face. It was all he had, and he hoped Dean understood what it meant for him to give it to him. 

Dean, to Castiel’s relief, never broke eye contact with him either. “Thanks, Cas. Be safe, okay? I’ll see you when you get home.”     

Sam smiled, and Castiel snapped his photo. They were at the lake again, though this time, without Dean. If Sam had been disappointed by the news, Castiel never would have known it by the way he threw his arms around him when arrived. He’d gotten taller, and laughed when Castiel mentioned it. Bobby had looked on with an expression that Castiel had been unable to read—something midway between disapproval and distrust maybe. Castiel didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t have trusted himself with Sam either if he had been in Bobby’s position, particularly, if he was of the mind, as everyone seemed to be, that Castiel was obviously trouble. Nevermind what he thought was going on between him and Dean. 

“I can’t believe the two of you, giving me this,” Castiel said as he shut the panel on his new camera.

Sam shrugged, “Dean did all the hard work. Besides, he’s always going on about how he thinks you’re probably wasted talent at the factory. So, I told him if he thought that, we should do something to encourage you. And he mentioned that you said you had a camera once, but that somebody busted it.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel said darkly. “And I’m not wasted talent. I’m very good at being Anna’s second. Or at least I used to be. I have to have a job, so the factory just passes the time when I’m not with the Garrison.”  

“Can I ask you something?” Sam lifted his sandwich to his mouth once Castiel set his camera aside again. He had been snapping photos whenever the mood struck. He wanted to take enough that Dean didn’t feel like he had missed anything by having to stay behind.     

“Go on,” Castiel urged. 

“Well, being up here,” Sam started around a mouthful of bread, “I’ve been thinking over some things. And I just wondered why you decided to bother with us.” He swallowed and washed his sandwich down with a gulp of warm soda. 

Castiel wasn’t sure he understood the question, let alone what had brought it on. “What do you mean?” 

Sam leaned back on one hand and pushed his too-long bangs from his eyes with the other one, “Just, you just said you run around with the Garrison most of the time, right?” 

Castiel nodded slowly, and wondered where Sam’s line of thinking was headed. 

“And, no offense, but that type, they’re not exactly known for hanging around people like us, are they? I mean, Dean tries to stay away from that kind of thing, and he’d murder me if I ever even thought about joining up with anyone like that. I know he fixes your cars, the ones you guys race, and that’s why you brought your bike to him, but you didn’t have to stick around. You could have totally ignored us after he fixed it for you. Or even just had it fixed by the bike guy I told you about before. Things would have gone on like always. But you kept coming back, and from what Dean says, you two have been spending a lot of time together…” Sam sounded almost petulant about that, like he was peeved he wasn’t also spending time with them, but he seemed to push through it, “I just don’t know what’s in it for you, I guess. Not that we don’t both like having you around. Don’t think that’s what I’m saying, because it’s not. I just...I don’t know, it seems like you wouldn’t want to bother with us if you didn’t need to is all.” 

It wasn’t a question Castiel could answer with a few words, or no words at all, like he might have liked, and he wasn’t sure how much he could explain to Sam without giving himself away. He would have preferred they’d ate lunch in silence, swam a bit longer, and maybe had a nap before they had to head back, but Sam had gone and asked the one question he didn’t have a good answer for. Because his initial response would have been to say that the opportunity to look at Dean every other day had been too good to resist at the time, and he had no sense of self-preservation. But he didn’t think that would go over well with either Sam or Dean, and while it was, at least, partially true, that wasn’t the whole of it anyway. 

“I like talking to you,” he said eventually. “You’re smart, and a good listener. And Dean is…” he searched for a descriptor that wouldn’t make him sound like some lovesick heroine in a novel, “...I admire him. I admire you both, I guess. In different ways. Dean works hard and cares about people. He’s...strong in a lot of ways. And you have an actual shot at leaving this place if you stay in school. Making something of yourself.” He sighed, “I guess I just like being around people who don’t remind me that I wasted whatever opportunities I might have had before. What is it you think you might want to do when you get older?”     

Sam had finished his sandwich and stretched out on his back next to Castiel. It was hot, but the trees blocked out most of the direct sunlight, and the temperature in the shade was almost comfortable, especially after having been in the water. “Is that why you promised to look after him for me? Because you admire us?” 

“I promised to look after him because I know Dean won’t look after himself. He’s used it all up looking after others, I think. He doesn’t know how to take care of himself. I like you both, and I want good things for you both. I could probably ask why either of you bother with me. There isn’t a lot I bring to the table except trouble.”

Sam made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, the way that reminded Castiel of Dean whenever he did it, “Give yourself some credit, Cas. You’re a good guy. And, about what I want to be, I don’t know. Probably something useful. Maybe a doctor or a lawyer. I could help people then. Like you said, Dean takes care of me, it’d be nice if I could do the same for other people someday.”

“You’d make a good doctor,” Castiel offered. “And Dean said you like science, so I guess you’re halfway there. When he showed me the house, he told me I should enter your room at my own risk.”  

Sam rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I like it, but Dean was probably exaggerating. He won’t admit it, but he’s a total neat-freak. If you’re not careful, he’ll clean your whole apartment if you give him half the chance.”

“I like him for it.” He had noticed Dean’s extreme attention to cleanliness long ago, but it wasn’t something Castiel felt particularly bothered by. He had never considered himself to be particularly neat, but he also had never had many possessions, so messes were still fairly difficult to come by for him. 

“No offense, Cas, but I have a feeling you’d like Dean no matter what he did. I’m sure he’ll get under your skin eventually though, and when he does, I’ll share all my tips for getting over it with you. Because whatever Dean says or does, as annoying and overbearing as he can sometimes be, he usually means well. And,” Sam sucked in a breath and let it out much more dramatically than was probably needed, “I know he likes you a lot too, so he’ll be sorry once he realizes he did something to irritate you.” He nudged Castiel with an outstretched leg, “I’ll play peacemaker for you guys if you ever have it out. Dean’s done it enough times for me and Dad.” Castiel could hear the frown in Sam’s voice as he sighed again. 

“I’ve missed you, Sam. When you come back home, we should all have dinner again. Maybe one Dean doesn’t have to make. You and I can make it.” 

“Me too, Cas,” Sam smiled. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. Family dinner at your place.”

 

It was later than he had anticipated when he rode back to town. He had spent the rest of the afternoon with Sam at the lake, and then stayed for dinner at Bobby’s grudging invitation. Sam chatted animatedly throughout the meal, and when it was time for Castiel to go, hugged him tightly and told him to make sure Dean planned to come back for him in plenty of time for him to get ready for the new school year. Bobby shook his hand before he went, which he took as a promising sign. If Bobby was just wary of his intentions like Dean said, maybe he was starting to warm up to him a little. 

Castiel came through the door with his rucksack over one shoulder while holding his camera and leftovers Bobby had sent with him from dinner for Dean in his arms. He kicked the door shut behind him, and set everything down on the kitchen table, which was about the time Dean made his appearance. 

“I was hoping that was you.” 

“It’s me.” Castiel stretched his arms over his head, stiff from riding, and carrying everything up the stairs. “Sam sends his love. Bobby sent you dinner. I still don’t think he likes me, but he didn’t protest when I went away with Sam, so I guess that’s something. How was work?”

Dean chuckled, “Just give him some time. He’ll warm up to you, eventually.” He peeked under the tinfoil covered dish at the lasagna Castiel had brought up, and then took it to the refrigerator. “Work was...work. Frustrating. I don’t want to talk about it, actually.” He turned and leaned against the refrigerator,  “I have a surprise for you.”  

Castiel frowned, a little disturbed that Dean seemed put out by the idea of discussing work. Dean liked his job as far as he knew, and was generally willing to talk about whatever jobs he had taken on. It was unusual for him to avoid the subject. He supposed missing out seeing Sam had probably put a damper on things though, so he let it slide. “You’re not going to eat?”

“Later,” Dean waved him off, “Aren’t you curious?” 

“Dean, the camera was more of a surprise than I deserved already. I don’t know if I can do with more.” He couldn’t wait to develop the pictures he had taken. He’d take them to the drugstore the first chance he got, but once he had the time, he’d see about getting the chemicals to develop them on his own again. 

“Okay, but that one was supposed to be from me  _ and  _ Sam. This one is just from me. C’mere,” he took Castiel’s hand and tugged him along. 

Castiel lifted a brow, but let Dean lead him down the hall without complaint. He wouldn’t have minded going right to bed, he was a little tired from swimming and riding all day, but Dean had clearly been waiting up for him, so he wasn’t going to disappoint him now.

Dean stopped short outside of the bathroom door, and looked a little like maybe he was having second thoughts about whatever he had planned, “Close your eyes, all right? Don’t, uh, don’t open them until I say.” 

“Dean-”

“Just humor me, will you?” He sounded exasperated, and Castiel obliged without further protest. 

Castiel heard the familiar squeak of the bathroom door, and then Dean led him forward again. He kept his eyes shut, despite the rustling he heard once Dean let go of his hand. 

“Okay. You can open them.” 

Dean sounded a little further away than he had been, and when Castiel opened his eyes, he initially felt a little disoriented. Dean wasn’t in front of him, and the bathroom itself was dark except for the glow of candlelight, which he certainly hadn’t expected. As the space wasn’t very large, it didn’t take long for his eyes to land on Dean, who was in the bathtub, knees to chest, and bubbles on either side of him. His eyes were downcast, and despite the dim light, Castiel could make out the color that had risen in his cheeks. Though if it was from the heat of the water or embarrassment, he couldn’t be sure. 

In his usual style, Castiel was struck silent by the situation, and as Dean seemed unable to deal with that particular reaction, he started talking before Castiel was able to find anything to say himself. 

“...and I thought since I didn’t get to go with you today, this would be the next best thing to skinny-dipping, but it’s not- if you don’t want-”

“Dean. Dean.” Castiel had to say his name twice before he got his attention, but he did get it, and Dean glanced at him before looking at the floor again. “I’d like to start by saying that we were not going to go skinny-dipping today, even if you had been able to come. But,” he reached behind himself and pulled his shirt over his head, “this is still a nice surprise.” 

That seemed to break whatever uncertainty Dean had been holding onto, and his eyes went from being glued to the floor, to being glued to Castiel as he undressed. Dean had, of course, seen him naked, so he wasn’t shy about the idea of undressing in front of him, but the way that Dean was watching him made him feel like the act was more intimate than he had intended it to be.

He climbed into the tub next to Dean, who shifted over, and turned to face him so they were sitting knees-to-knees across from one another. The water was warm, but not so hot that it was uncomfortable, and he wondered how long it had been since Dean had run it. He leaned in and gave Dean a kiss, which was awkward with their knees between them like they were, so he gripped Dean’s thighs and pulled him closer, so that his knees were on either side of him instead. He’d missed him, and he wanted to show Dean how much he appreciated him. He deserved that much, at least. Dean deserved so many things, and Castiel felt ill-equipped to give them to him.  

When he pulled away, Dean brushed a soapy thumb along Castiel’s cheek and leaned in for another, more chaste kiss. He shifted after that to make things more comfortable for them, and turned Castiel around so that they could sit chest to back, with Castiel between his knees.

“This is good too,” Dean sighed as he leaned back, and settled his arm loosely across Castiel’s chest. “Now, tell me what all you and Sammy got up to today.” 

Castiel liked this position just as much as having Dean nearly in his lap, and he leaned his head back to rest against Dean’s shoulder, “Nothing. We swam, ate, and talked. I tested the camera. I’ll take the film to get developed this week so you can see the pictures. Oh, Sam grew quite a bit. Maybe an inch or so.”

Dean chuckled and Castiel could feel it reverberate throughout his entire body. He relaxed further against him and shut his eyes. 

“Kid is gonna turn into a giant one of these days if he’s not careful.” Dean was running his thumb back and forth over Castiel’s collar bone as he spoke, “Is that it, Mr. Mysterious? What’d you talk about?”

“You,” Castiel told him frankly. “Among other things. He misses you. And he asked me why I bothered with either of you.”

“And?” He felt Dean hook his chin over his shoulder. 

Castiel didn’t miss a beat, “I told him I was in it for the money.” 

Dean laughed at that, the full warm laugh that Castiel loved to hear, and he attempted to memorize what it felt like to feel it as well as hear it.

“Was my poor baby brother scandalized? Did he try to defend my honor?”

“He told me that once I got tired of you, he’d show me his methods for forgiving you your sins.” 

“You’re the absolute worst, you know?” 

“You asked. Besides, you signed up for it. I’m a hood, remember?”

Dean’s grip on him tightened just a little and he pressed a kiss to his cheek before they lapsed into a comfortable silence. 

Castiel might have fallen asleep like that if Dean hadn’t suggested they actually wash while they were in there. He let Dean clean him as he liked before they swapped off, and he started by shifting them around so that he could wash Dean’s back. They really hadn’t spoken much, but it was nice, and in Castiel’s opinion, the only thing that might have made it better was a cigarette, but he had done pretty well today, and had only smoked once while he had been with Sam, who had remarked on the noticeable decrease in the habit. He couldn’t make any promises about tomorrow, but he didn’t want to mess up his good run. 

“Can I ask you something?” Dean asked when Castiel had nearly finished with his back.

“I’m not sure whether or not I should be concerned that both you and Sam start your conversations that way. What is it?”

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” 

“About the money? Dean, I know I’m not very funny, but I thought you realized I was joking-”

“No, earlier. At the garage. When I gave you the camera. About… right before you said that you liked it.”

It took Castiel a few moments, but he eventually caught Dean’s drift, and felt his throat close. Dean was asking whether he had meant it when he had blurted out that he loved him. He had hoped that they could forget the entire ordeal. That maybe Dean was willing to let it be one of those things they didn’t need to talk about or ever bring up again. He should have known better. His luck never stayed good for long, even in the best of times. 

Castiel swallowed and continued needlessly washing Dean’s back. It was definitely already clean. He could move on. Except that he couldn’t. Because right now he had a choice to make. He could deny it—say that he had mixed up his words and that it had been a funny mistake—lie, in other words. Or he could tell Dean the truth. Because he thought it was true. It felt true. And saying otherwise felt impossible because of it. He had never been a good liar. 

“I didn’t really mean to say it like that,” he said slowly. “It just… came out. I’ve been… very happy lately. With you, I mean. Being together. So, I think it just sort of slipped out.” He swallowed thickly as Dean turned back around to face him. 

“But you meant it?” Dean’s eyes were wide, open and vulnerable. All of the freckles on his body stood out. He looked young, younger than he was, like all of his edges had been smoothed away, and only the tender, soft parts of him were left.  

Castiel felt his heart lodge itself in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to say more, and instead just nodded. It was taking everything he had not to flee the bathroom in terror. He didn’t know what Dean’s response would be, or if this would be the beginning of the end for them, or if things would change between them after this. 

“I think,” Dean started, his voice hardly above a whisper, “that maybe I... maybe I feel the same way about you.” Tears fell from his eyes, and he wiped them away hastily, “Sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying. Probably soap in my eyes.” He took a deep breath and let it out, like he’d been unable to breathe since they’d entered the bathroom, and needed to remember how his lungs worked. 

Honestly, Castiel felt like he could have cried too if given the chance. Neither of them had actually said the words this time, and they were still both a mess. Castiel was fairly certain he was trembling, which seemed to be a side-effect of feeling things when he was with Dean, and probably almost as embarrassing as Dean’s crying. He reached up and cupped Dean’s face with one hand before he pulled him into an embrace. They were wet, and barely able to articulate their feelings, so it wasn’t the most romantic gesture, but he hoped Dean understood. 

“Sam said you’d get under my skin eventually,” Castiel told him, “It was a joke, but I think I’ve already  got you there.”

Dean laughed softly and sang, “ _ I’ve got you under my skin/ I’ve got you, deep in the heart of me/ So deep in my heart, you’re really a part of me/ I’ve got you under my skin…”  _ Dean’s voice was deep and warm, and the sound of it, along with the feeling of it against his body, set Castiel’s heart stuttering all around his chest. 

“Let me finish washing you before the water goes cold,” he said eventually to try and recover the situation.

“Only if you kiss me first. Not quite Sinatra, but I think you’ll do,” Dean teased.

Castiel frowned and Dean laughed before he reached up and pulled Castiel forward enough that their foreheads met. “Don’t be sore at me, Cas. He’s twice my age, and wears a suit all the time. It’d never work- I’m a grease monkey. Besides, I think your eyes are bluer anyway.” 

Dean leaned in and kissed him then, and Castiel found that he didn’t mind so much if Dean wanted to compare him to Frank Sinatra after all.     

 

A little over two weeks had gone by and neither of them had talked about it. He didn’t know if it was fear that things might change, or if they already had, and so saying it would have felt awkward, but things went on almost the same as they had before Dean had given him the camera or asked if he meant it when he had blurted that he loved him in response. 

Castiel didn’t really know what he had expected. He knew they cared about one another, so why should anything change? Why was it a big deal to say that he loved Dean at all? It was ridiculous, but he still hadn’t managed to make himself say it again, properly, and Dean hadn’t done so either. The only real shift came in the fact that Dean now spent more time with him at his apartment, and had taken to leaving notes for him like the one he had found that morning, always signed with “X’s” and “O’s.” Castiel, of course, had taken to secretly hoarding them like some pathetic excuse for a dragon. They were tucked into his sketch journal right alongside a few risque photos he had taken of Dean the morning after their bath. They were tasteful—he wasn’t trying to get arrested—but he had taken them for himself, just a few shots of Dean’s sleeping face and perfect torso. He looked as rough as he knew how when he went to pick them up, and dared them to say a single thing to him about it. 

He spent more time at the shop. It was the opposite of what he had been trying to accomplish when he had brought Dean around to meet all of his friends at the diner, but simply knowing that there was, or could be more between them, made him want to be around Dean more often. Additionally, he had finished what he deemed would be his actual last pack of cigarettes, and being around the guys made him want to smoke that much more. He had been weaning himself off of smoking slowly, but after his last pack, he had promised himself that he wouldn’t buy anymore, and had instead stocked up on Lifesavers. Dean didn’t smoke, and he was more inclined to kiss him after he had been sucking on a Lifesaver than when he had smoked, so it just made more sense to hang around him more than the Garrison.

Of course, neglecting the Garrison so obviously was bound to backfire on him eventually—it already had once—which was why rather than spending the night with Dean, like he desperately wanted, he was currently being involved in what amounted to a robbery.

Really, he was just keeping watch with Anna, while some of the others did the heavy lifting, but he would have rather been with Dean than gambling with his freedom. Sam was due home in a little over a week, and Castiel, as much as he loved and missed the kid, was aware that all the alone time he had with Dean now, would be halved when Sam returned.         

“I don’t like this any more than the trouble that was going on before. It makes me uneasy,” Anna told him while they kept watch from a truck she had borrowed as Ingrid and Josiah slipped into a closed liquor store.   

They didn’t usually go in for such petty crimes except as a means of initiation, but the owner of this particular store had apparently been rude on more than one occasion in the last few weeks (a fact, Anna reminded him, that he would have known if he had bothered coming around lately), and had sold them watered down product on their last “after hours” visit. Anna felt it was time to teach them a lesson, and she intended on stealing enough to significantly damage profits. Since Ingrid, Elias, and Josiah were the youngest, they would be doing the breaking and entering. If they got caught, a judge was more likely to show them some leniency. Once they had the trucks loaded (Anna’s borrowed one and Inias’s), Anna and Inias would drive their prize to the quarry and dump anything they didn’t plan to drink. 

Castiel would have preferred to have done something less risky and more overt to make their point—vandalism would have been acceptable—but this was very much Anna’s style, and given how on edge she had been, he didn’t like the idea of her heading the operation on her own. As much as she had guilted him into going, he had ultimately agreed and gone to act as insurance. 

“It’s...unsettling,” Castiel admitted, “But everyone’s tired of being on tenterhooks, and I can’t say I blame them.” There hadn’t been a lot of activity on the streets, no more random attacks, and nothing to indicate that anything had actually been planned in the first place. Anna didn’t feel as certain as everyone else wanted to be that there wasn’t something more going on. Something that they just hadn’t figured out yet. 

Castiel squinted into the distance. It was quite dark because the store operated on the edge of town to make selling ‘shine easier. There weren't any street lamps out this far. It operated as a legal liquor store during the day, and every third Wednesday and first and fourth Saturday operated outside of the law as a moonshine fence. Castiel was fairly certain law enforcement looked the other way because they were no less guilty of buying than anyone else. 

“Tenterhooks are keeping them safe,” Anna said sharply. “Do you see something?” 

Elias and Ingrid had started to load one of the trucks while Josiah started on the other.

Castiel squinted again and leaned forward a little, “I’m not sure…” He thought he had seen movement, but the wind was blowing, so it might have just been the trees shifting. “No, I don’t think so. ” He sat back in his seat again. “I don’t disagree. But they see it as paranoia. It’s not a good look for a leader, Anna.”

Anna huffed and peered out of the windshield, “And what about you? Do you think I’m being paranoid? You slip off on your own whenever you get the chance. We’ve hardly seen you for weeks. Doesn’t do me a lot of good to make rules if my second is going to go breaking them.” 

Castiel stifled his sigh, “No, I don’t think you’re being paranoid. I just agreed with you. And I’m not breaking…” He sighed and frowned. She wasn’t wrong. He did visit Dean whenever he got the chance, if for no other reason than to prove to him that he was serious about being...whatever it was they were. In love or...committed, whatever it was they couldn’t really say to one another with words. He had a feeling Anna knew he was with Dean when he wasn’t with them, but he didn’t think it would help his case to mention to her that he wasn’t really ‘on his own’ when he wasn’t with them. 

“I need to tell you something,” he said slowly. “And when I do, I don’t want anything to change between us.” It wouldn’t help his case to let her know that he wasn’t alone, but it might to be honest. She was his best friend, and if he should be able to trust anyone with it, it should have been her. Maybe if she understood  _ why _ he wanted to spend so much time with Dean, she’d be more inclined to forgive him. 

Anna glanced over at him, “Not gonna confess your undying love for me now, are you? That ship sailed, you know. I’ve moved on, Castiel.” She gave him a wry smile, “What is it?” She could still tease him, so that was something. 

There was a loud crash and the sound of glass breaking. Josiah swore, and Anna turned to whisper furiously that he was going to get them caught, while Castiel got out of the truck to see what exactly had happened. 

Ingrid and Elias continued to finish loading Inias’s truck while Castiel approached Josiah who had cut his hand. 

“It’s not bad,” Josiah said as Castiel took his hand to examine the slice that ran across his palm.

Castiel reached for the bandana that hung from Josiah’s pocket and wrapped it tight over the wound. “Hold it. I’ll finish loading up, just get in the truck.”

“I can still-”

“You’ll slow us down, and I don’t want to be out here any longer than we need to. I have a… bad feeling. Go on, get in the truck. The last thing we need is your blood all over the place.” Castiel glanced around and then hurried to finish loading up before Ingrid locked the store’s door behind them. One of the reasons she had been so readily recruited was because of her ability as a lockpick. They didn’t often break into places, but when they did, it was a handy skill to have, and while Gabriel was good, Ingrid was more level headed. Gabriel also had mentioned that he had a date that night and wouldn’t be available for shenanigans. Castiel wished that he could make the same excuse in order to spend time with Dean. He had suggested they go to the drive-in some time ago—a new western,  _ Seven Men from Now _ was playing—and Castiel longed to take him out to see it. 

After checking several times that they were clear, he eventually gave the signal for them to head to the quarry. Ingrid got in the cab of Inias’s truck, and Elias and Castiel rode in the beds of either truck with the booze. They were to take two different routes, a few minutes apart, and then unload as quickly as possible before heading back to town. That way they wouldn’t all be caught at once if something went wrong. 

Anna looked at him through her rearview before she started the engine and headed for the quarry. They were leaving first, the longer and curvier route; Inias would wait ten minutes and then start on the more direct one. Apart from Josiah’s mishap, things seemed to be going all right, but Castiel felt unsettled. Maybe it was that he had been about to tell Anna about Dean, and his stomach was in knots, but he wasn’t sure. He supposed he should probably talk to Dean about telling Anna before he went through with it anyway. If she had a bad reaction, Dean deserved to be prepared to deal with the fallout. He kept sharp watch as they drove, and when they entered the quarry, moved quickly to unload the alcohol into the rock pool. Both Anna and Josiah got out to help, and Castiel realized, belatedly, that if someone were out for them, both he and Anna were in the same place, and taking them out at once wouldn’t be too difficult while they were vulnerable. He supposed that was proof enough that Anna wasn’t concerned about the run, and had just wanted him to come because she felt like he had been shirking his duties lately.     

They slid whole cases of moonshine and legal alcohol into the rock pool, and did their best not to make too much noise. At this time of night, it was unlikely that there would be anyone around, but it wasn’t uncommon for a night patrolman to swing by just to make sure no one was getting up to the very sort of thing they were up to just then. They had only unloaded about half the cases when Castiel heard tires on gravel and looked up into headlights. 

“It’s about damn time,” Anna huffed as she let another case of alcohol slide into the water. “Inias drives like a grandma.” 

Castiel squinted into the light, and his brows lifted as he heard the engine die. “That’s not Inias,” he said as he straightened. 

“What?” Anna’s head snapped up, “The fuzz? Can’t be, we-”

Car doors slammed, there were footsteps on gravel, a lot of them, and then a voice. “Well, well, what have we got here?” The voice they heard was unexpectedly high, a woman’s voice, and it made Castiel frown. It wasn’t one he recognized. No one they knew. “Looks like a crime in progress. Or, at the very least, someone dumping something they shouldn’t, somewhere they shouldn’t.”

Castiel moved closer to Anna, who had turned to face the woman more fully. In the time it took them to realize something was wrong, several other people had materialized around the woman, but the headlights from their car were still on, so it was difficult to really make out any of their details. 

“Who are you?” Anna asked, her voice hard. “We aren’t breaking any rules. Quarry is neutral territory.” 

All major landmarks were neutral—the quarry, the reservoir, and various other points—to prevent any serious turf wars. It was more or less an unspoken agreement, rather than anything formal or official, but the area gangs understood and agreed, and boundary lines were generally drawn around these areas with little issue. Of course, that didn’t stop petty fights, or one group trying to gain ground over another, but it was more a system of checks and balances, rather than a treaty of any sort. There wasn’t much that held the town together outside of the factories and the gangs, and if the balance was upset, there was no telling how things might go.      

Castiel didn’t know who this group was, not that he could recognize any of them with the light backing them the way it was, but he didn’t have a good feeling about them being there. And then there was the fact that they had come from the same direction that Inias  _ should  _ have been coming, which meant they had either known that they would be at the quarry ahead of time or that they had somehow held Inias, Ingrid, and Elias up before they arrived. Both scenarios were bad. 

The mystery woman clicked her tongue, and tossed what Castiel thought was probably light brown hair, over her shoulder, “Now, I don’t think that’s quite true. If you’re committing a crime on neutral ground then it seems to me like that should be a punishable offense. It’s not really neutral if you’re soiling it with petty crime. I think we arrived just in time, boys.”

Castiel counted six plus the woman. Seven to three and Josiah down a hand. He didn’t really like the odds. Maybe they could get out of this without a fight. Or without much of one, if they were lucky. 

“Look here-” Anna started.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Castiel finished for her. He usually let her do the talking, and while he was prepared to brawl if they had to, he felt it was in their best interest if it didn’t come to that while they were down guys and far away from anyone who could help. Anna was generally level headed when it came to diplomacy, but she was already irritated, and she never liked to be threatened. This woman, whoever she was, was only stirring her up, which wouldn’t be good for anyone if it went on for very long. 

He felt Anna bristle next to him. He’d never hear the end of it if they came out on top of this. 

“So...” he continued, “...as a show of good-faith, we’d be willing to...split profits.” Anna was going to murder him. He could feel the fury radiating from her, and even Josiah seemed to get prickly at the suggestion. But he knew she wouldn’t contradict him in front of other people, and he didn’t see any point in putting them into a fight if they didn’t have to get into one. He still wasn’t sure what had happened to the others, and he wanted to find them as quickly as possible. Giving away half of what they were dumping into the quarry anyway seemed a small price to pay to him if they escaped unscathed.

She seemed to consider it for a while, her posse shifting around her. They had come to rumble, and Castiel could read it all over them. Even if they took two each, they’d still be outnumbered, and with Josiah’s injury, the odds were not on their side.

He shifted and stepped forward so that there was less space between them. “It’s a good trade. You could drink it or sell it. You’d profit either way.”       

“I think not,” she said after enough time had passed to put them all on edge. “If you really didn’t want any trouble, you wouldn’t have come here in the first place. You see, I’ve been watching things here for a while, and it seems to me that this whole area is a bit of a mess. I don’t have any interest in ametuer crime, even ones that involve copious amounts of alcohol.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and took a few steps forward so that there was only a few feet of space between herself and Castiel. “I’d like to clean things up. Eliminate a few unnecessary groups. Tighten the ship, so-to-speak. Anyway, we haven’t even been properly introduced.”

Castiel frowned. He hadn’t recognized them because they didn’t belong to any local gang. Whoever they were, they had apparently come from outside of the town. “You’ve been behind all the attacks lately,” He said without realizing it. It had slotted into place before he knew his mind was making the connection. 

She tutted, “That’s not a proper introduction. I’ll start. I’m Kit. As in ‘Kitten.’ Now, you tell me yours.”

He could feel Anna growing tenser by the second, and his brows drew closer together, “I’m Castiel. Why have you been attacking us? Why are you here? What do you want?”

“To have her face beat in,” Anna ground out. “Castiel, I’m not going to take this.”   
“Anna, please.” Even if Anna could take her, he didn’t think he could take her guys on his own, or even with Josiah’s limited assistance.  

“You’re clever, aren’t you, Castiel?” She smirked as her group snickered behind her. “I needed to prod a few bears to see how things operate here. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed. It seems like all of the gangs, if you want to call them that, are rather disorganized. I assume you all make as much trouble for the people in town as you do for one another. It’s embarrassing, really. But, you know, I kind of like you.” Her voice had dropped to a purr, and she closed the rest of the space between herself and Castiel. “I might be persuaded into… an alliance,” she walked her fingers up his chest and curled them into the collar of his shirt. “Obviously, I have to clean this place up, toss out the trash, and set up a more organized system for doing things, but it would be easier with support from some of the locals. You could be that support.” 

Castiel felt like his head was spinning. He wasn’t sure how they had gone from being practically ambushed to him being propositioned. Up close, he realized that he  _ did _ recognize her, and his stomach lurched hard enough that he had to press his lips into a hard line to keep from being sick. 

She was the girl from outside Dean’s shop. The one who had come with her brother or cousin with a blown fuse. Certainly not as mousy looking in skin tight pants and short jacket as she had seemed over a month ago in her flower printed dress, but up close her wide-set eyes were unmistakable to him.

“You look a little green around the gills, sweetheart.” She cocked her head and pressed the back of her hand against his cheek, “Oh, poor thing. I’m afraid he’s had a shock. I have a hard time believing someone with your face has no experience with women, but I suppose not everyone can be so fast. Let’s do this: why don’t you and your pals leave everything here with us, and then in, let’s say...three days, you give me your answer? We can either work something out then, or we can put you all in your place, but I think it’ll work out for us either way, don’t you?” 

She smiled and all of her teeth were visible. “You know, I liked you from the moment I saw you. It’s lucky we’re meeting again now.”

The mention of their brief meeting before, was what made him move, the threat she posed to Dean, though it was unclear whether or not she knew of their connection, and before he knew what had come over him, he had his blade at her throat. 

“Not on your life, you bi-”

“-Anna,” Castiel’s voice was cold, and Anna was halfway beyond him before he realized Josiah had caught her by the shoulder before she got any farther. 

Kit’s guys had already moved in, but she raised a hand to stop them, and they froze obediently. Her brows had lifted to her hairline when Castiel pulled his knife on her, and she gave them a slow smile. “Slash, Ray, why don’t you fellas help them finish unloading their goods?” Two of the guys that had been standing back made their way to the truck, and began carrying the booze from there to their own car. 

“I could kill you,” Castiel told her evenly. His knife was pressed so firmly to her neck she had started to bleed.

“You could try,” she said, her tone amused. “I wouldn’t though. Even if you do manage to open me up, my guys would kill all of yours to return the favor. I don’t think the three of you would come out on top, do you?”

“Who sent you? Lucky?” Castiel asked her to change the subject. She was right. Even if he killed her, her guys were already on alert, and would be on him before Anna or Josiah could blink.     

“You’re so cute,” she pinched his cheek and glanced expectantly at his blade.

It took him a moment to get his body to listen, but he eased the pressure, and she stepped away from him.

“I knew you were a smart one,” she said flirtatiously. “Lucky Morningstar and all of his little Devils are a joke, Castiel. And you all aren’t much better. Though I might commend you for being slightly less destructive for the sake of it. You didn’t honestly think that these little gangs of yours would last forever? You cause trouble for the cops, for people in the surrounding areas, no one wants to deal with that. You see, the thing about crime, is that it has to be organized. If things are run in a business-like fashion, you line a few pockets, no one minds if you break every rule in the book. They just don’t want to see or hear about it. Your conflicts all tend to be very...loud. Indiscrete.” She rolled her shoulders and wiped the blood from her throat with a finger before sucking it clean. “My superiors are no one to concern yourself with. You just have to know that they want things in this town cleaned up, and they want everyone to benefit in the process. I’m here to make sure that all gets done as quickly and quietly as possible. So, I’m giving you three days, Castiel. You’re lucky I like you, otherwise that little knife trick might have changed my mind about letting you all go tonight. After those three days are up, I won’t be as friendly, I promise.” 

Slash and Ray finished unloading the truck, and planted themselves on either side of Kit. Castiel thought of the shop and his stomach turned again. 

“C’mon, boys. Our new friends have a lot to think over. Let’s get out of their way for now.”   

 

When Kit and her cronies had gone, Anna got into the truck and slammed the door. “We need to find Inias,” she said sharply. “Right now.” 

Castiel checked Josiah’s hand and instructed him to sit in the back. He didn’t argue, but instead gave Castiel a look that told him he understood, even if he didn’t agree. Castiel climbed into the cab next to Anna. She started the truck and sped off in the direction of the route Inias was supposed to have taken to meet them. 

Castiel was still reeling from the fact that someone who had just completely disarmed them had been so close to Dean without him ever realizing it, and didn’t say anything at first. He knew she recognized him from their initial meeting, if it could be called that, but he couldn’t be sure whether or not she had spotted him spending time around the garage or with Dean since then. She said they had been watching, but he had no idea how closely, whether they knew how easy it would be to ruin him. He could barely breathe thinking of the danger Dean could be in if she was so bent on shutting things down and taking over, apparently with Castiel’s help. 

“Cat suddenly got your tongue?” Anna asked sharply. “You had an awful lot to say back there.”

“Anna, I was only-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Castiel! You made me look like a fool back there! You rolled over without any hesitation! I’d have opened her throat the second I had the chance if I’d have been as close to her as you just were. I’ve worked too hard to keep things going for us, and the second some second-rate, no-name with the hots for you strolls into town, you betray us! How the hell are we supposed to explain this to everyone? And what’s worse is it wasn’t even just you and me- Joe was there too! He saw the whole thing- you undermining me and then acting liking a fucking coward.”

He could hear the disgust in her voice, and he knew that coming back from her perception of what he had done wasn’t a task that would be easily met. “What would you have me do?” His voice was even, if a little stronger than it had been initially. “We were outnumbered. Josiah was injured, and we have no idea what happened to Inias and the others. What good would it have done to start a fight that we weren’t going to win? If I had killed her, the only thing that would have been accomplished would be that everyone else would find us strung from a tree or something tomorrow morning. I was keeping us alive, Anna.” 

“You don’t know that! If we had challenged them, then we’d know for sure what they were worth. For all we know now, they’re all talk! You gave away something we worked for, and for what? Because you’re yellow? Explain that to the guys the next time we’re all-”

“Damn it, Anna! Did she sound like she was joking to you? Do you really think they’d bother with us if they were all talk? Do you think they’d go around causing trouble like they have if they were just joking? Excuse me if I don’t want to watch you die in front of me. It won’t matter if the others think I’m a coward if we’re both dead, or if they’re all dead because we made poor decisions. So no, I don’t regret what I did! Think about someone other than yourself for a single second.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing every time I covered for you not being with us,” she said coldly. “What you’ve done, Castiel, has put us all at risk, and I’m not just talking about tonight. You and I are foundational figureheads. If there’s a crack in the foundation, it all starts to fall apart. You proved that tonight.”

“Anna, stop the car!” Castiel’s door was open almost before she put her foot on the brake. Ingrid was nearly in the middle of the road, her arms waving over her head, and her makeup running. She looked like a ghost in Anna’s headlights. Castiel ran to her, and she collapsed, sobbing, into his arms for a moment before she seemed to collect herself.

“We need to go,” she told him, her voice strained. “Inias, he needs- you have to come now!”

“Ingrid, look at me,” Castiel said sternly. He took her by the shoulders, “Tell me what happened. Tell me where.”

She stared at him, panic plain on her face, and he simply stared steadily back at her, his hands firm on her arms. 

“I don’t know who they were. They were waiting. Elias and Inias-” she took a deep breath, “I think Inias needs a doctor. They’re only about half a mile back. I’m sorry, Castiel. I didn’t know what to do.” 

“Get in the truck,” he told her and dropped his hands from her shoulders. He felt cold all over. “Come on, we have to go to them, get in the truck,” he said again, and this time he guided her there, and shoved her in between himself and Anna. 

“What the hell is going on,” Anna asked.

“Just drive,” Castiel told her. “Inias needs us. Drive now.” 

 

Castiel had spent a good portion of his life in and out of hospitals. First with his grandmother after she had initially gotten sick, and then at various points when one of the Garrison would need to be taken in after a fight. Being used to them didn’t make him like them any more. And knowing Inias was in surgery down one of the cold, empty halls made him want to vomit. 

When they’d found him and Elias, he was barely conscious and Castiel almost couldn’t recognize him. According to Ingrid, after they left the liquor store, they were forced to stop because there was another car parked across the center of the road. As it was a narrower road, there was no going around, and Elias, who had gotten impatient, jumped out to try to deal with the offenders himself.

That was when things went south. Elias, a bit like Josiah, could be hot-headed when he wanted, and when he beat on the hood of this other car to get them to do what shouting from the back of the truck hadn’t, the guys inside got out and attacked him. Inias had gotten out to help him, and took the worst of the beating. Ingrid, followed suit, took a blow to the cheek, and now had a nasty purple bruise below her right eye. Despite this, according to Elias, who was going to be kept in the hospital for the next couple of days, and suffered a broken wrist, she pulled a blade and saved them when she surprised one of the three guys that was there with it. They stole Inias’s truck and the alcohol with it, and left, presumably to get their wounded man medical attention. Shortly after that, Anna, Castiel, and Josiah had come along. 

All of this had been recounted to Anna and Castiel, but not to the cops, who had shown up just a little while after Inias was taken into surgery. They all refused to utter a word, even with the threat of jail time hanging over their heads, and eventually the officers gave up and told them they’d be back later, and not to get any funny ideas about skipping town. It wouldn’t have made for a very good story anyway. What were they supposed to say? That they had all been worked over after committing a crime themselves? It wouldn’t do any good, and all of them knew it. 

“If all you’re going to do is pace, Castiel, just leave. You’re no use to anyone here.” Anna’s voice was flat and unemotional, and she didn’t move an inch in the chair she was sitting in. Ingrid was slumped against her shoulder, asleep, and Josiah had been sent to inform the others what had gone on, and to bring Hester and Carla to the hospital once he tracked them down. Anna had given him the keys to the truck, and he’d left without hesitation. Castiel couldn’t say he blamed him. All he wanted was to smoke, and since he had no cigarettes on hand, had taken to pacing the length of the waiting room. He stopped when Anna spoke though, and if she had been furious with him before, he knew there was absolutely no chance of reasoning with her right then. She wouldn’t even look at him. She had the keenest way of making him feel like this was all his fault, despite the fact that he knew it wasn’t. The fact that Inias and Elias were both laid up when they hadn’t been anywhere near him was proof enough of that. Still, he felt her resentment coming in waves, and wholly directed at him, and so he left. 

Probably, it was the wrong thing to do, and more than likely, he’d catch more hell when he appeared again, but he couldn’t take it. He was exhausted now that his adrenaline had settled, and scared on top of it. He had no idea what was going to happen to Inias. He couldn’t think about losing him—one of his oldest friends—and he didn’t think he could face either Hester or Carla when they arrived anyway.

He wandered to the payphone outside of the hospital and after digging around in his pockets for enough change to make a call, had the operator put him through to the only person he thought he could stand to be around right then. 

“‘H’lo?” Dean’s voice was groggy, and Castiel realized that he would probably need to be up in just a few hours in order to make it to the shop. If he had been a better person, he would have hung up right then, but the wave of relief that crashed over him at just hearing Dean’s voice almost bowled him over. He was fine. He was  _ safe.  _

“Look,” Dean said tiredly, “I don’t know who this is, but I’m hanging up in about two seconds if you don’t say something.”

“Dean.” It was all he could manage. He didn’t know what else to say at the moment. 

“Cas? That you?” He sounded a little more alert now, “Is everything okay? Are you hurt?” 

“Dean,” he said again. “I’m- can I come over?”

“Where are you? I’ll come to you. Tell me where.”

Castiel pressed his face against the glass pane of the telephone booth and closed his eyes. “I’m at the hospital,” he said finally. “I’m fine. We had to bring Inias. Please.”

Dean was silent for what felt like an eternity, “I’m on my way. Stay put.” 

 

If they had been closer to home, Castiel would have gotten his bike and rode to Dean’s house himself. The last thing he wanted was to inconvenience him, but the hospital was closer to the city, miles away from town, and there was no way he could have walked so far. When he hung up, he slid down the wall of the phone booth and sat with his head pressed against his knees, and nearly fell asleep, until an eternity later, Dean found him. 

“Cas!” Dean had him upright almost before he registered that he was there. His hands were everywhere, on Castiel’s face, his shoulders, his hips, and then he finally pulled him into an embrace. “Christ, you scared me half to death. You’re okay?” 

Castiel let himself be manhandled, and when Dean finally pulled him into his arms, he nodded and pressed himself as close to him as he could manage.      

“What happened? No, wait, let’s get you home first. You can tell me once my blood pressure gets back to normal, all right?” He pressed a kiss to the top of Castiel’s head, and hugged him once more before leading him back to the truck. 

 

They didn’t talk on the way to Dean’s, which was just fine with Castiel, because he didn’t think he could have managed it any sooner. He didn’t have the words to tell Dean all of what had happened, not when he felt so out of control. 

Dean got them inside almost soundlessly, and showed Castiel which floorboards to avoid when he took him up to his room. He helped him undress, and gave him some of his own clothes to put on while he went downstairs and made them drinks. 

There was something endlessly comforting about sitting on Dean’s bed dressed in his clothes, which were a size too big, but smelled so much of him that Castiel could not have cared any less. 

“All right,” Dean said as he closed his door gently behind him, “Coupla hot toddies oughta be just what the doctor ordered.” He handed one to Castiel and then sat down next to him on the bed to sip his own.

Castiel downed his all at once, burned his tongue, and still wanted something stronger. Cigarettes. Alcohol. He didn’t care. But he wanted not to feel like this, like the whole world was spinning away from him, for just five minutes. None of those things were available to him, and so he settled for what was, and moved to kiss Dean, who seemed entirely caught off guard, but set his tea and brandy on his night stand, and tried to follow Castiel’s lead. Castiel didn’t slow down though, because kissing Dean was all that made sense at the moment, familiar and grounding in a way that he desperately needed. He kissed him until Dean was flat on his back beneath him, and when Dean tried to touch him, he pinned his arms over his head with one hand. “Don’t,” he whispered, his voice breaking unexpectedly. Dean’s eyes searched his face, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Castiel kissed him again. He was going to forget the whole night—that Anna was mad at him, that Inias could die, that someone who wanted to see his entire world reordered might know about Dean—he just needed Dean to let him. 

Only it wasn’t that easy. 

He kissed that spot under Dean’s ear that almost always undid him, ran his tongue along the shell of his ear, and just when he thought Dean was going to melt for him, it all went sideways. Literally. Dean shifted under him and freed his wrists from Castiel’s grip so that they were on their sides, and Dean’s arms were around him. 

“Cas, it’s okay. Tell me what happened, please. What’s got you so shaken up? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Castiel closed his eyes and breathed Dean in. He felt so solid in his arms that he almost felt silly for being frightened that anything could happen to him. He took another deep breath, and when he felt like he could speak again, explained to him that Inias had been attacked, and that Anna probably felt like it was his fault, despite the fact that he hadn’t been there to stop it, because he’d been so absent lately. He left out the parts about Kit, and the alcohol, and tried not to think about them. He wasn’t a good liar, but he was good at saying nothing. He couldn’t afford to drag Dean into things if he could help it—he’d figure it out before he ever had to know anything was wrong. And if he couldn’t... Well, he wasn’t going to think about that right now.  _ For now _ he was curled in Dean’s arms in his too small bed, and he felt safe and wanted in a way he hadn’t known he could. 

“Hey, try to get some rest, all right? Nothing ever looks as bad in the morning. I’ll drive you back to the hospital when you get up, and we’ll take things one at a time.” Dean’s fingers were in his hair, and he sang softly, “ _ I tried so not to give in/ I said to myself this affair will never go so well/ But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well/ I’ve got you under my skin… _ ”  

Castiel closed his eyes and let himself feel Dean’s words until he lost all sense of anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I can't believe I actually finished this before the end of the month. I mean, it was the goal, but a massive struggle for me. My birthday was last week, and my mom's birthday would be next week, so it has been a rough month over all, but this has been about the only thing I've been motivated to work on. 
> 
> Chapter title- "I've Got You Under My Skin" by Frank Sinatra. I was going to use this for, like, the last chapter, but it just fit here so much better, so I guess a new plan will have to be made there. I really think there will be only a maximum of maybe 3 more chapters, so I held out as long as I could. 
> 
> In my head, the camera Castiel gets as a gift from Sam and Dean is a Kodak Tourist, but it's a little too new to have been their mother's, so I just left it generic, but if you want to see what it looks like, it's a pretty easy search. 
> 
> We kind of got an '"I love you!" That's exciting, right? I went back and forth about this for a long time and whether or not I wanted it to come here, but ultimately, it felt right, and for where I want the story to go, I think it will work well. Things also got a little steamier this chapter, so I went ahead and upped the rating to M to be safe, but I don't really think it's anything too scandalous. The alleyway scene had been in my head for ages, so I gave in and decided to write it. 
> 
> The bathtub scene was actually requested for a high school AU that I had written for a friend many many moons ago, but could never really work into the story. I also never finished that fic (RIP), so I decided to put it in here. I like how it turned out. I think I mostly just like writing them being tender with one another. 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for being patient and sticking it out with me! I really think writing this has been good for my mental health and has kept me from totally spiraling. Much love to you all!


End file.
